


I'm Simpler Than You Think

by DaemonMeg



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angels, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Case Fic, Deleted Scenes, Demons, F/M, Ghosts, Haunted Houses, Implied Megstiel, Implied Relationships, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-20 05:56:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 63,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2417480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaemonMeg/pseuds/DaemonMeg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meg Masters is pragmatic, if nothing else, and doesn't let opportunities pass her by.  So when faced with Ellen Harvelle's wrath, she made an agreement that would change both their lives.  When Meg survives a brutal attack by the King of Hell, she seizes the chance to start a new life just as Jo and Ellen did.  But unnatural occurrences tend to follow close on the demon's heels and she finds it's difficult to escape the notice of hunters.</p>
<p>Multi-POV AU following the off screen adventures of Meg Masters as seen through the eyes of secondary characters. Canon divergent from "Abandon All Hope".</p>
<p>"Look, I'm simpler than you think. I've figured one thing out about this world, just one, pretty much. You find a cause, and you serve it. Give yourself over, and it orders your life."</p>
<p>This fic is now complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Carthage

**Author's Note:**

> The characters belong to the writers and producers of Supernatural. I own nothing and do not profit from this work.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellen and Jo wait for the Hell Hounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Missing Scene from from "Abandon All Hope" Episode 5.10.

Ellen gripped the trigger tightly in her fist, waiting.  The hellhounds kept slamming at the doors to the shop, loosening the hinges.  Her boys had already gone, and so had her little Jo.  The sobs wracked her body, and she didn't bother to wipe the tears from her cheeks.  If she did, she would either have to let go of Jo or the trigger, and that wasn't an option. 

"I'm so sorry Bill."  Her husband had died years ago.  Every time Bill went on a hunt, she promised him to take care of their little girl.  How could she face him and Jo again, knowing she had failed to save their daughter.

As she cried, she noticed the sound of hounds had ceased.  That wasn't good.  Ellen couldn't exactly blow them all to hell and beyond if they didn't come in to the hardware store.  Slowly, she stopped her sobs.  Perhaps that's why she couldn't hear them anymore.  Over the sound of her breaking heart, she heard footsteps.  _Good.  Here comes the bitch demon._

Meg sauntered in between the paint aisle and the grass seed display.  Her smile was gone, as she looked around the store.  "Come out, come out, wherever you are," she called out. 

_Just a little closer,_ Ellen thought.  A few more feet, and she would trigger the bomb.  She could watch her in the convex mirror near the end cap display.

"Gotcha!"  Meg sounded giddy like a little girl playing hide and seek.  Her mouth spread into a toothy grin, and her dark eyes sparkled. 

"Tag, you're it, demon whore!"  Ellen screamed as she pressed down on the bomb's trigger.

 

And nothing happened.

 

"Always with the ' _whore'_ and  ' _slut'_ .  What is your problem?  For such a bad ass mother, you're still promoting sexism."  Meg stood, arms crossed, one foot cocked against the ankle of the other.

Ellen pressed on the trigger repeatedly, becoming hysterical.  "Damn it!  Dammit dammit dammit!"  She pulled out her hand gun, aimed at Meg, and emptied the chamber into the black eyed bitch.

Meg just waved her left hand, and the bullets veered off to the side, decimating the hand tool department.  "Why do you have to make this more difficult?  I want to talk to you about a deal."

"I don't make deals with demons.  Especially not demons who murder little girls."

"Settle down, bar keep.  Blondie isn't dead.  At least she doesn't have to be."  Meg ducked as Ellen's handgun flew at her head.  She kept moving forward, squatting down in front of Ellen so their eyes were even.  "She can walk out of here today, if you agree to what I want."

Ellen sucked in her breath.  _Jo alive?  "What...what do you want?"_ Ellen only whispered.  She was afraid of what the demon would offer.  She was afraid of how many years the demon would ask for.  She was afraid she would agree to anything, just to bring back Jo. 

"I want you to stop."  Meg tilted her head to the side, and smiled a half smile.

"Stop living?"  Ellen could do that.  She could trade her life for her daughter's.  "You want my soul like the deal made with Dean?"

"No, you misunderstand me.  I don't want your soul.  I'm not a crossroads demon.  I don't want you dead, I'm not a reaper.  I want you to stop hunting and stop helping the Winchesters.  This fight won't end, for good or for ill, until the Winchesters stand alone."

"You want me to let Lucifer win?"

"Win or lose doesn't matter.  If Lucifer and Michael get their Apocalypse, you go to heaven.  If the Winchesters stop them without your help, you live out your life and _then_ you go to heaven.  If you continue to help the Winchesters, you both die, along with many others."  Meg sat back on her heels, reached out a hand, and fingered a strand of Jo's hair.

"Why would you let us walk away?  If you kill me, you get what you want.  Neither one of us could help the Winchesters again."  It was a stupid question.  Ellen figured she should just take the deal and walk away with her daughter.  But something didn't smell right.

"Why didn't the kidnapper kill Pita yet let Creasey think the little girl was dead?  Sometimes you can get twice the results by not wasting a resource."

"Who is Creasey?  I don't understand." 

"Would it kill you to watch a movie once in a while?  Never mind.  Let's just say, it serves no purpose to have you dead, when the same purpose can be served leaving you to live.  And perhaps you'll be of use to someone again.  Is it a deal?"

"We both live, and we both stop hunting and stop helping the Winchesters."

"Don't just stop helping them.  The Winchesters need to think you are dead."

"Okay, no hunting, no helping, and faked deaths.  Bring back my daughter, you bitch."

Meg hissed.  "Always with the bitch names."  She continued to hold a hank of Jo's hair.  Meg's eyes blinked and turned black.  As Ellen watched, a dark halo seemed to cover Jo's prone body.  Her daughter began to breath again.  The wounds seemed to disappear before her eyes. 

Jo was still asleep.  Ellen set her and the bomb trigger aside and held out her hand.  "Don't we have to kiss or something?  For the deal?"

Her laughter was grating.  "I'm not a crossroads demon, I told you.  I don't seal my deals with a kiss.  Honestly, I think it's just a bunch of smoke and mirrors invented by demons to lure in prepubescent boys."  Meg stood up, and dusted off her dark jeans.  "Well.  That's done."  She held out a hand, and Ellen heard the sound of hounds' paws on the linoleum floor.  Meg's eyes turned black once again.  "I'll be watching you."  Beneath her fingers, a hellhound appeared.  It's dark shadowy form became a great dog.  Two more appeared behind it.  "If you ever contact the Winchesters, or any other hunters, if you begin hunting again, I will know.  My hounds will stay at your side.  No harm will come to you from demons, or any other supernatural creature, as long as you abide by our deal."

"What are those?  Those are Hell Hounds?"  These were the hounds that had torn Jo to pieces.

"No," she laughed.  "Can't you see they're mastiffs?  Great Danes actually.  Superstition tells us that Great Danes can sense harmful spirits."  The one under her hand was all black, with pinned ears.  The other two were a smoky grey color and one still had floppy ears.  "Like I said, they won't hurt you unless you break our deal.  Take them.  Keep them as your own, and they will protect you from any harm."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hello! It's been [reported](http://dogcarehq.com/great-dane/) that in medieval times, Great Danes were said to sense and ward off evil spirits.


	2. Natchez

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellen has a late night visitor, and nothing could have prepared her for who needs her help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Missing scene that takes place after "Caged Heat", Episode 6.10.
> 
> Reminder that this fic is tagged for graphic depictions of violence, rape/non-con, rape aftermath, and rape recovery. This specifically references what occurred in "Caged Heat" as written by the Supernatural writers.

Otto was barking furiously at the back window.  Ellen had already checked out back with the flood lights and a shotgun twice, but she didn't see anything.  "Shut _up_ , Otto!  Go back to sleep."  She rolled back over in bed and held the pillow over her ears.  His bark was so deep.  It could have been worse.  Meg could have left her with Yorkies or Chihuahuas.  When Jo had gone off to the academy, Ellen had sent the other two dogs with her.  It was a good thing their house was in a rural area of Mississippi, because otherwise the cops would have already been called on her _LOUD, BARKING, DOG.  "Shut uuup, Otto!!"_

The screen door slammed, and Ellen rolled out of bed, ready once more.  She pounded down the back stairs and spotted Otto alert beside the back door, guard hairs abristle with nerves.  Someone was pounding on the solid wood door.

"Barkeep!  A shot of whiskey, if you please."  Ellen knew that voice.  She heard it in her nightmares every night, dreading the day when she would hear it again.

She pulled open the back door, and barely caught Meg as she fell over the threshhold.  With the other hand, she leaned the shotgun in the corner behind the door and pulled the demon inside the kitchen.  This didn't look good.  Meg was covered in blood that had already turned a brown-black with age.  She could barely keep her feet.  The demon was still dressed in the same leather jacket, purple shirt, and jeans as the last time she had seen her.

Otto had run up to Meg the moment she emerged through the back door, a low whimper coming from his throat.  Just the tip of his tail swung to and fro, as though afraid to see his former master.  The dark haired woman slumped in the chair by the table, and flopped one hand over Otto's back.  He immediately sat, and stretched his neck out to lay his head in her lap.  His whip tail began sweeping the tiled floor.

"I promise, Jo and I haven't hunted at all.  I promise.  Why are you here?  Who's blood is that?"  Ellen was beside herself.  Seeing Meg again likely meant the end of their deal, and Ellen wasn't ready to say goodbye to her daughter.  She would fight for it if she needed to.

"Listen woman _,_ I'm not here to break our deal.  I'm here for a favor.  Where are the others?"  There was dried blood that had run down the demon's forehead, crusting and flaking near her eyebrow.  The corners of her mouth were white with pain.

"Jo is at school.  She joined the police academy.  She figured...she figured she can't hunt demons but she can still help people.  The other two Hellhounds-Great Danes-went with her."

" _Good._   There are more bad guys than bad monsters in this world anyway.  I'm glad she feels she can be useful." 

 _She's glad?  "_ You're hurt.  Just heal yourself.  I've seen your power." 

"Barkeep, in case you haven't noticed, the power lines have changed.  If I heal myself, every demon and angel in a 100 mile radius would descend upon me.  I need to do this the old fashioned way.  And I think I know someone who might owe me a favor.  Where's that shot of whiskey I asked for?  I prefer Jameson's."

 

It took hours to clean and stitch all of Meg's wounds.  She mostly gritted her teeth and drank shots of bourbon.  Ellen didn't have any Jameson's, but she figured Wild Turkey would suffice.  Frankly, she thought the taste of bourbon hurt Meg more than the stitches.  It wasn't difficult to play nursemaid.  Hell, she had done it many times before for Bill, and later for her boys, and any other hunters that made it into her bar.  What was difficult to bear, though, was the story Meg spun as she was sewn up.

"And as I hid behind the old steel desk, I heard him say that he was going to kill me, but not after letting Castiel have me for fifteen minutes."  Meg was finishing her story of how they were able to finally take care of Crowley.

"Ugh!  I can't believe Dean would say that.  I mean, he _saw_ the other demon cut you with the knife.  And he was ready to let some other man just use you?  If I ever see that boy again, I'm going to smack him _soo_ hard, he'll see his mother again.  And then _Mary_ will smack him back down out of Heaven."  Those were the most difficult stitches Ellen had ever had to sew in her life.  The damage was pretty extensive between Meg's legs, and the demon shut her eyes while Ellen worked.  About half way through, she looked up, and saw tears leak between Meg's eyelids.  "You know.  I've seen a lot of torture in my day.  Torture of men and by men.  But this.  _This_ is the work of a monster.  I don't care anymore if you're a demon.  You did not deserve this."

Meg reached out a hand, the one without a bottle in it, and grabbed Ellen's shoulder.  The knuckles were white with strain.  "Thank you, Ellen."  The dog was pacing outside the kitchen in the hall, whining at the crack under the door.  "Otto.  What did you name the others?"

Ellen bent back to her work.  The night wasn't over yet.  "The two blue's are named Daisy and Duke."  She laughed.  "Jo named those.  Duke is for Marmaduke, like in the cartoon?  And Daisy, well, Jo just figured it fit.  I named Otto after Otto von Bismark.  You told me the Hell Hounds were now Great Danes, so I named him after the baron responsible for breeding them."

"Did I tell you they sense spirits?"  Meg was drunk off bourbon, and was repeating her stories now.

"Yeah.  We make a bit of money using them for hunting boar, though.  Wild pigs are a problem in Mississippi and the other states in the southeast.  Danes were originally bred as boar hounds, and we're not the only family to use them around here.  Otto, Daisy, and Duke are the best in five counties, and farmers hire us all the time to root out their pig problems.  Your Hell Hounds make good hunters.  The fees helped pay for Jo's training at the academy.  We figured it would be a good cover, since I didn't want to go back to bartending.  Plus, it's pretty nice living here in Natchez."  Ellen looked up again, and saw Meg had passed out, from the pain or the bourbon, she didn't know.  She figured it was for the best.  No need for her to be awake for the rest of it.

Cleaning up over the sink, Ellen thought about the demon on her table.  She had the perfect chance to end her, here and now.  She might not have a special knife like Sam and Dean, but she could easily draw a devil's trap while Meg was asleep and perform an exorcism.  Unfortunately, she didn't know what that would do to their deal.  Would Jo drop dead if she exorcised Meg?  She was _not_ going to risk Jo's life.  And besides, Meg was right about Ellen owing her a favor. 

When Meg had made her the offer to resurrect Jo, Ellen would have agreed to almost anything.  She would have traded her life and soul to give her baby a second chance at life.  But the demon hadn't asked for her soul.  She hadn't even asked for a future favor.  All she wanted was for Ellen and Jo to live out boring, hunter free lives.  She had to admit, that's the sort of life she always wanted for her Jo.  She had been on alert for the past year, always expecting something to happen that would reverse their deal. 

As she washed her hands and arms to the elbows, she glanced over her shoulder.  Meg still lay prone on the kitchen table.  It had been the best place for her back woods surgery.  Ellen would have to find a night dress for her, as there was no way she could squeeze her back into her jeans without pulling out the sutures.  Her fingertips had turned to prunes by the fourth time she washed her hands, and Ellen figured she was clean again.  Meg's blood had caked under her nails, and even outlined her fingerprints.  Some of it was black as death, and she had had to cut away some flesh in order to have a clean, straight stitch.  Those new cuts had bled bright red, not black as she had expected.

She turned, and propped open the door from the kitchen to the hall.  Otto trotted in immediately and snuffled Meg in the face.  It was strange.  She knew they were Hell Hounds, but she had bonded with them none the less.  Jo told her that she pretended it was Lucifer's hounds that had attacked her, and Meg's hounds that protected them.  Ellen liked that idea, decided to adopt it as her own, and now it was her headcanon. Otto had developed a grey beard, silvering his muzzle.  Honestly, Ellen thought it made the Great Dane look more dignified.  He was larger than the blue Danes she had sent with Jo. 

She rustled around upstairs and found an oversized T-shirt in Jo's room.  A few minutes later saw her waking Meg, propping her up on the slab farm table, and helping her shrug into the night shirt.  It was easy falling into the mother role.  If Ellen was honest with herself, she had come to like Meg for her sassy comments and tough demeanor.  She always felt it took a strong person to ask for help.

Meg's head rolled on her shoulders, still drunk off of pain and bourbon.  "Ellen.  Ellen."  The dark haired woman flapped her arm against Ellen's shoulders as she held her up to dress her.  "You didn't have to help me.  Thank you.  Looks like I owe you one now."  Meg looked down at herself, and spotted the T-shirt.  It had an airbrushed wolf on it, and the woman began to laugh.  "A truck stop shirt!  I love it."  Dressed once again, Meg sat with her legs dangling down off the table, hands braced on either side.  "You know, I don't know which is worse about last night.  Being robbed of my vengeance with the minion or being robbed of my vengeance with Crowley.  Dean Winchester took one and the little tree topper took the other."

Ellen's eyes softened, and she pushed a strand of Meg's dark hair behind her ear.  "Oh, hon.  They're gone.  You don't need vengeance anymore.  They're gone."

Meg looked up into her eyes, and grabbed Ellen's hand, the one that had brushed through her hair.  "You forget that I'm a demon.  What do I have except my vengeance?"  She clambered off of the table, toes curling on the tile floor.  The black dog leaned against her hip, looking up with cocked ears.

"Come on, you're staying in Jo's room for the night, and probably for the next couple of nights."  She led the demon up the back stairs and down the short hall to Jo's room.  "She'll be staying in McComb for the next week at least, and that should be enough time to get you up and about again."  Meg leaned on Ellen as they made their way to the bedroom.  "Do you know what you'll do now?"  Ellen busied herself around the room, putting clean sheets on the bed.

"Hide?  I don't know.  Crowley is dead, but his lackeys are still in power.  There just aren't any Lucifer loyalists left.  I lost the last I knew of at the warehouse.  If I go to the Winchesters, they'll kill me.  If I leave my vessel and go back to Hell, my soul will just be tortured.  If I take a new vessel, it will send up a red flag for anyone watching for demonic signs of possession.  I can't afford any of that attention."

"Meg, just let me talk to Sam and Dean.  If they know Jo and I are alive, they'll leave you alone.  The apocalypse failed."  Ellen was eager to see John's boys again. 

"NO."  Meg leaned against the dresser, and fingered a loose necklace she found laying there.  "I'm Meg.  I'm a _demon_.  I possessed Sam-or have you forgotten?  I was in your bar.  I had Jo in my grasp before.  I've killed other hunters.  I've killed humans.  I've worked with Azazel and Lucifer.  There isn't a hunter alive that wouldn't kill me in a heartbeat.  You would too, if you weren't so worried about the deal for Jo's life, admit it."  Meg flung the necklace back onto the dresser and hobbled over to the bed.  "No.  I'm a demon who isn't safe with demons, because demons are only out for themselves."

Ellen turned to let herself out of Jo's bedroom.  It would be an uneasy night sharing a roof with a demon.  Especially one who had been the cause of so much pain for her little family.  As she moved through the doorway, Otto squeezed past and jumped onto the bed, intent on sleeping with Meg for the night.  Ellen was reminded that even though these looked like dogs, they were still Meg's Hell Hounds.  It was a sobering thought.  "Good night."

Meg just smirked and said, "I'll sleep like the dead."

 

The next morning, Ellen found Jo's room open with the bed made.  The wolf T-shirt was folded up on top of the cedar chest at the foot of the bed.Downstairs, she found Otto at the back door again with a whimper in his throat.  She didn't even hear Meg leave in the morning.  Frankly, Ellen was surprised she was able to get out of bed, much less leave the house. 

The butcher knife was stabbed into the center of her table.  Skewered beneath was a note.

_So long and thanks for all the fish._

Sure enough, Ellen checked her cupboards.  Meg had taken all the cans of tuna and an opener with her when she left.  Ellen sat at the table, hand on Otto's head, and just laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my response to what the writers actually had take place for Meg's character. What happened to Meg in "Caged Heat" was basically torture porn, and it made me incredibly angry when the writers had Dean joke afterwards about giving her to Cas for a few minutes before he killed her. The whole scene and followup "joke" were both completely unnecessary. Everyone loves the Megstiel kiss or Meg's quote "Dean Winchester is behind you", but I don't see a lot of outrage over the treatment of Meg's character in the episode as a whole, so I decided to confront it.
> 
> Also, I reference Ellen earning a living with the dogs. See this [link](https://www.google.com/search?q=great+danes+used+for+hunting+feral+hogs&client=firefox-a&hs=1wu&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&channel=sb&tbm=isch&tbo=u&source=univ&sa=X&ei=mqQDVLCfCIS6ggSIyIH4BQ&ved=0CB0QsAQ&biw=1366&bih=631) to learn more about how Great Danes are used to hunt feral pigs.


	3. Northern Indiana State Hospital

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel wakes up to find his nurse is a demon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MIssing scene that takes place after "The Born-Again Identity", Episode 7.17 and before "Reading is Fundamental", Episode 7.21.

Castiel woke up. It wasn’t a sudden awakening like in the movies. He woke up slowly. Just a change to his breathing. Just a change to how he held his body on the hospital bed. The sheets wrapped around his limbs, rumpled and damp from sweat. The air was cool on his arm where it had flung out from under the pale blue blanket. The room was filled with the rustle of paper and the hum of fluorescent lights. The scent of stale sweat and morning breath assaulted the room. The rustling paper noise ceased, and the chair next to the bed creaked. The angel kept his eyes closed, his body held stiffly.

“I know you’re awake,” she said. “You can open your eyes. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Castiel opened them. _Demon. Abomination._ His mouth worked, and his voice croaked with disuse. “Meg.”

“Clarence.” She folded up the book she’d been reading and tucked it on the stand next to the chair. “You seem lucid, more so than yesterday.” She felt his forehead with the back of her hand. Her hand was cool and dry against his skin. Then she pulled his wrist towards her, checking his pulse. His heart rate was fast, but his pulse slowed as she held him beneath her fingers. He still had that much control over Jimmy's body.

Meg stopped counting, released his wrist, and pushed her hair back over her left ear. Her black hair seemed to have a permanent wave from just such behavior.  _No trims, all split ends. She used to take better care of her ‘meat suit’._

“How can I worry about something as trivial as my hair when I have you to think about?” she retorted.

Castiel looked up and met her eyes. “I guess I spoke that thought aloud.”

“You did, silly. Since you took on Sam’s crazies, you haven’t had much of an inner monologue.”

“Oh.” He looked around the room, taking in his surroundings for the first time since waking. It was always this way when he woke, but today, though, everything seemed different. If Sam’s body couldn’t handle the insanity of Lucifer’s afterimages, then Jimmy’s body couldn’t either, he figured.  Castiel still felt frail. “Why did I wake?”

“This isn’t the first time you’ve woken up. You’ve had hours, sometimes even days, that you’ve woken,” Meg explained. “But you’ve never remembered anything before.” She stood up, walked to the end of his bed, and picked up a clipboard.  She scratched some notes onto the chart and put it back.

“You’re my nurse.”  It wasn’t a question.

“I’m everyone’s nurse here. I have a third of this floor.”  Sure enough, Meg was wearing maroon scrubs.  They had frogs on them.  Her name tag said Northern Indiana State Hospital and listed Meg Masters as her name.  There were tenure pins in her badge holder and a smiley face sticker on the top right corner.

"RN?” Castiel said with a questioning note in his voice.  “I thought you would have taken a different vessel, one that worked here or at a different hospital.  Isn’t it hard to act the part when your vessel doesn’t have the training?” Meg helped Castiel to sit up in his bed.  He could feel the muscles of his back bunch against her palm through the opening of the hospital gown.  He felt Meg's hand tremble against his skin as she supported him from behind.  Castiel was confused that he needed help to sit up, but his vessel _had_ atrophied much during the last few months of inactivity. 

She turned away towards the door.  “Well, part of being a demon is knowing how to lie, and lie well.” 

 

In the days that followed, Castiel fell in and out of delusions.  Sometimes he spoke with Lucifer still.  And sometimes he sobbed that he felt the weight of the universe-every planet, every star, every speck of dust, every atom.  He felt them all weighing on him at the same time.  But best of all, sometimes he would tell her how he smelled every flower, heard every bird song, and watched every wave break upon the sand.  Those were the best times.

In the afternoons, Meg would read to him from one of her books.  She had rounds to do, but in a psych ward, there are more nurses per patient, giving her more time with him. The mornings, he spent in the day room.  He played board games with the other patients-at least the ones who were lucid.  Mainly, he was waiting.  Meg said she would let Dean and Sam know he was awake when he finally got around to waking up, whatever that meant.

He _trusted_ her.  So did the other patients and staff.  The crazy folk seemed, well, to blossom when she was around.  The other nurses deferred to her opinions-and her recommendations were surprisingly right!  Who knew a demon could lie so well?  He trusted her, even though she reminded him constantly that she was a demon, and he, an angel.   She told him the only thing he could trust was that she couldn’t be trusted. 

 

When Lucifer visited Castiel in his delusions, Meg sat next to him and talked over his voice.  When Castiel felt the whole world pressing in on him, she held his hand when he cried.  When he wanted to flit with the bumblebees, Meg took him out to the quad and let him work on the gardens.  He asked her once, why she did all those things.  She gave him a copy of Tom Jones in answer.  Castiel didn’t understand.  He read it through in a moment’s time, placing his hand on the cover.  Meg explained that to know an idea isn’t to understand an idea.  She read that book to him next.

“Who knew demons liked to read?” he asked.

“When you live forever," she explained, "you need to find a way to fill your time.”  He thought she sounded just like Metatron, who loved stories so well.

She attempted to teach him the difference between doing the right things for the wrong reasons and doing the wrong things for the right reasons.  One of Meg’s examples was of how he had done so many horrible things, like deal with Crowley, with the intention of saving the Earth and its people from battling angels.  She told him he was still good, but had made bad choices with the motive of doing the right thing.  She, on the other hand, was currently playing the part of a “good” person for selfish reasons.  That made her “evil”.  It was a far cry from the common belief in Heaven and on Earth that the road to hell was paved with good intentions.  At the center of her point was her demonic, self serving nature.  Her good actions did not outweigh her selfish motives.  She insisted she could only be trusted as long as their goals were the same, though their motives were different. Taking care of Cas ensured she had an angel on her side for the endgame with Crowley. Taking care of the others fulfilled the “role” she was playing. It was that simple. Despite her efforts, Castiel wasn't convinced by any of Meg's explanations.

“Why haven’t you called Dean yet?” Castiel asked her one day, about a week after he woke up.

“Seriously?!  You spent the morning crying during checkers in the day room with the therapy group and in the afternoon you chased rabbits in the quad while singing ‘Little Bunny Foo-Foo’.  Don’t you think you might be just a little too raw to ’go back to work’?”

She had a valid point.  One day, he was curious.  “Aren’t you afraid that I will vanquish you?  That I’ll burn you out?”

“Not at all, Clarence!  You’re too grateful for my help.  You’re too good for your own good.  I don’t see the vengeful angel in you anymore.” She just smirked at him.

It wasn’t that simple. He trusted her still, despite her efforts to dissuade him.  He trusted her because she hummed while she worked.  Because she visited other patients, even after her shift was done.  Cas trusted Meg because she wiped his brow with a damp washcloth when he had night terrors.  Because she brought shelter dogs to the day room and talked puppy talk with them.  Because she would smile when their eyes met, and then look away with a blush.  He told her as much.  He began calling her a dark beauty, _his_ dark beauty.  Meg insisted it was just part of her lie.  But her smiles and her laughter reached her eyes.  Cas noticed she didn't hold his hand anymore when he had nightmares.  She would just bring him a wet cloth so he could mop his own brow.  

 

Then one evening, Castiel bolted upright in bed during the thunder storm that wasn’t a thunderstorm.  Sure enough, Meg was at his side.  She unfolded her legs, where her ankles had been crossed atop his legs and put away her magazine.  Cas found that comforting.  Even though she had stopped touching him, holding his hand and touching his cheek, he would notice she still touched him while he slept.  Some nights, he woke, hearing her crack open his door and slip in next to his bed while he slept.  Castiel would stay still, control his breath, and keep still.  Sometimes, she would just prop her legs on his bed.  Other nights, he felt Meg smooth his hair back over his forehead while he slept. 

Tonight was different though.  Something important had awoken him.  It was as though a door had been thrown open.  He could hear the other angels murmuring in his mind, but the whispers weren't clear enough for him to make out.  When Cas told Meg about how he felt an alarm had gone off, she made the decision to contact Sam and Dean.

She made the call. The Winchesters were on their way to pick up their angel.

He sat on the edge of the bed, fingers buried in his hair as he hung his head in his hands.  "They'll be here soon?"  Cas didn't know what to think.  He had been avoiding this since he woke up.

"Listen here, you little cloud hopper, these are your friends.  Yes, you screwed up.  Yes, you made a mess of things."  Meg reached out, pulling one of his hands from atop his head.  "You can do this."

"I don't think I can.  I still can't make it through the group sessions.  You've seen me-"

"Clarence."  She held his hand in both of hers.  " _These are your friends_.  Dean and Sam will help you figure things out."

Cas looked up, searching her face.  Tonight, her scrubs were the same blue as his eyes.  "What will you do, when they pick me up?"

Meg let go of his hand, and leaned back in her chair.  "I'll do what I do best-raise a little Hell."  He could see the pain behind her eyes.  She reached up and pulled a scrunchie off of her wrist, tying back her dark hair.  "I don't think your boyfriend will let me tag along.  He's always been _reluctant_ having me on his team.  You know he doesn't like to share his angel."

She was talking about Dean.  "I'm not his angel and they're not really my friends.  They only call when they need something.  What will happen to you?  Who will look out for you?"

"I can look after myself.  Lay low for awhile."

Castiel leaned forward, meeting her eyes.  "You stayed with me.  Took care of me.  Stood by my side when I needed a friend.  I can be _your_ angel."  

"I didn't do it for you, I did it for me.  I helped you because I like being owed favors.  I collect debts the way other people collect spoons.  Honestly, I'll be glad when Broody and Muttonchops take you off my hands."

"We made no deal-no contract.  I'm not obligated to help you or protect you."  Cas had a thought.  "Do you want to make a deal?  I'll protect you from angels and demons if you stay as my caretaker."

"I-I guess I can agree to that.  Leviathan, too?  It would be good to have an angel on my side." 

Cas stood up from the bed and walked towards her.  "It's a deal then.  We should seal it."  All he could think of suddenly was the last time they had kissed, his hand buried in her hair and her, pressed against the wall, pressed against his body.  Her hand had gripped his sides, and run up his back under his coat.  He could remember her pulse under his palm at her throat.  Then he reached for her.  _What am I doing?_ He saw her squeeze her eyes shut and grimace.  "Meg, are you alright?"

She slid the chair back quickly, tipping it on the back two legs, before bolting to her feet.  "Shut up."  Meg glanced him up and down, lowering her lashes.  "I'm not a crossroads demon.  I don't seal deals with a kiss."

Cas sunk his voice even lower.  "You kissed me before."  _And I kissed you back._

"That was before.  That was when I needed to steal an angel sword."  She paused.  He saw her face soften.  "That was when you weren't suffering delusions and anxiety attacks.  I can't ki-make deals with someone who's mind is compromised.  No deal."  She turned towards the door, leaving him standing there, one hand still stretched out.  "I'm going to wait in the lobby for the Winchesters.  Someone will need to check them in and get them past security."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit, this chapter was all for me and my Megstiel feels.


	4. Rufus' Cabin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meg Masters gives Dean Winchester relationship advice, Castiel is clueless, and Meg puts up with immature men.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deleted Scene from just before "Survival of the Fittest".

Rufus's cabin was musty. That was all there was to it.  Meg leaned against the counter on the kitchen side of the small room.  She rested her beer against her stomach and pretended to drink once in awhile.  Mostly, she just listened.  Sam and Cas.  Dean and Kevin.  _Huh.  Kevin thought this was a sex torture dungeon.  He doesn't know the half of it yet._   Another drink.  She guessed she wasn't pretending that much afterall.

It really sucked being there.  The only one who seemed to want Meg around was Cas, and he was off his rocker. She glanced over at her angel again.  Or was she his demon.  She didn't really know, and didn't think she wanted to.

Dean slumped up the stairs and sunk onto the sofa next to Sam.  "Dude."  He shook his head.  "That kid Kevin.  I think he's gonna crack.  But this may be our best clue yet on how to beat Dick."  Everyone in the room except Castiel rolled their eyes.  He was running out of good material.

Meg choked on her beer, the lager burning the back of her throat while she tried to cough it back up.  Dean and his dick jokes would be the end of her.  At least Crowley was more clever at his ribbing.  Sometimes she missed the smarmy bastard.  And Clarence, well, he couldn't grasp simple pop culture references or colloqialisms, so she couldn't exactly expect a quality joke out of him.  Well, at least she could amuse herself with his social awkwardness.

Later that evening, Meg awoke on the sofa to Dean opening the fridge yet again for a cold one.  It had been a rough night.  Taking on those two trucker demons had really zapped her energy.  The kicker had been when the Winchesters had been ready to kill her as soon as she'd returned to the cabin.  Oh, the gratitude.  If it hadn't been for the winged crusader, she'd be just be another empty meat suit at this point.  Returning the favor and saving the little tree topper was the least she could do when Hester went berserk. 

_His eyes.  His damned eyes didn't need to be so blue, like an October sky._

Dean crushing another drink brought her back to the here and now.  He'd been drinking non stop since Kevin took off for home with the other angels. 

"Dean, don't you think you've had enough?"  No one else was going to say anything so she might as well be the one.  It was like Sam was afraid to talk to his brother about his addiction.

"Shut up, Meg.  What gives you the right to talk to me?  About anything?"

"Nothing I guess.  Except babysitting your boyfriend for almost a year.  Stepping into that devil's trap with Crowley.  Holding off those hellhounds so you could infiltrate the lair of the King of Hell.  Killing those two demons I found at the gas station to protect everyone in the cabin.  Killing Hester before she ended our favorite cloud jockey.  Should I go on?" 

"You know what?  Fuck you."  Dean was incensed.  "Do you think I forgot you tried to kill my dad and my brother?  Do you think I forgot that you're the reason Bobby ended up in a wheel chair?  That you possessed Sam and killed those hunters?  That you- _you demon whore_ -killed Ellen and Jo?!  You don't get off that easy.  How many people have you killed?  Whenever I look at you I see my friends and family that you destroyed."  His voice shook with anger.  "You _wanted_ the apocalypse!  You wanted Lucifer to win.  You've been in this from the beginning, and I will never forgive or forget what you've done."

She huffed through her nose, keeping her laughter restrained.  "Well, as long as we're clear on where we stand with one another.  How many people have you killed?  And can you blame me for wanting Lucifer to win and bring the apocalypse?  Heaven is a much better alternative to Hell and you should know that more than anyone."  She paused, thought better of it, and then changed her mind.  "She was in love with you, you know, even though you were always an asshole to her."

Dean narrowed his eyes at her.  "Who?"

"Jo."

"You don't have the right to talk about her.  She's dead because of you.  You hurt her when you possessed Sam, and your hellhounds tore her apart."  Dean popped the cap from his bottle and drank half of it in one swallow.  "Ellen and Jo both are gone because of you."

Meg knew better, but she couldn't resist twisting the knife now.  "We talked about you, back when I was in Sam.  I told her you only thought of her as a sister, and it just broke her heart."

"Why the _fuck_ are you telling this to me, you fucking bitch?"  He had finished his new beer, and grabbed a bottle of Scotch, pouring a rocks glass for himself.

"Because you need to know that she wanted you.  She loved you.  Everyone, good or bad, needs to know that someone cares whether they come home at night, figuratively speaking, of course.  Jo thought you were worthwhile."  Meg was still on the sofa, but had twisted to see him in the kitchen.  She knelt on the cushions, and hung on the back of the couch, setting her chin on her folded forearms.

Dean shot the rest of the Scotch and set the glass down with an audible _clack_.  "If she was in love with me, like you say...If she wanted me, why didn't she-?"  He didn't finish the question.  Dean ran his left hand through his hair, mussing it.

"Why didn't she sleep with you, on her last night?  Come on, you didn't really offer a one night stand before certain death, did you?"  He hung his head in memory.  "You did!  You asshole!  No woman with any pride would sleep with you because you think you'll die the next day.  You made her feel that she was a last resort.  You made her feel that she wasn't worth the risk when you had all your life ahead of you.  For her to sleep with you knowing you only wanted her because no one else was handy and you only had one night left...well, it would have broken her even more."

Dean picked up his empty rocks glass, looked at the last cubes in the bottom, and upended it into the sink.  "I guess I didn't really think of it that way."

"Yeah.  Women, or really people in general, want to know that you want to be with them because you're going to live, not because you're going to die.  It's a wholly different sentiment."  Meg flopped back down onto the sofa.  Her boys had taken the bedrooms, leaving her with the dusty couch that had seen better days.  She just realized she didn't know when she began thinking of them as _her boys_.

"Meg."

"Yeah."

"Why did you tell me this stuff?  You know, tell me I've had enough to drink, talk to me about Jo."

"Because whether you like it or not, you're the codependent glue that holds your band of merry men together.  And I want you to win against these Leviathan so you can get back to what's really important and kill Crowley.  You can't very well do that if you're hungover and your relationships fall apart."

"Meg."

"Yeah."

"Sometimes I forget that I want to kill you."

"Thanks, Dean.  That's honestly the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.  Now drink a glass of water and go to sleep."  Meg rolled on her side, facing the cushions and resting her head on one arm. 

Dean and Sam came back from Roman Enterprises with bad news.  The place was filled to the brim with multiple Dicks, and this time it wasn't one of Dean's terrible puns.  It took some time to formulate a new plan, and Meg didn't know what possessed her to volunteer to be the distraction. 

Castiel gave her a sharp look when it was decided.  After the Winchesters left for one more pie run at the gas station, the angel stayed behind to speak with her.  "Meg, I don't think you should do this.  You could get hurt, or..."  He didn't finish his sentence.

"Or killed?  Clarence, I'm already dead.  You forget that sometimes.  Demons were human once.  Why does everyone keep forgetting that?  I lived my life.  Then I died.  Then I stole the meat suits from my vessels and lived their lives.  _I'm already dead._ "

"Meg."  His voice dropped even deeper, if that was possible.  It made her spine tingle.  "Do you remember when we first met?  When I was trapped in the circle of holy fire?"

"Oh, I remember.  It was pretty hot.  The flames.  The holy flames were hot."  Meg felt her cheeks warm.  _Why was he bringing this up?_

Castiel lowered his lashes and tilted his head to the side to look at her, really _see_ her.  "I understand that sometimes it is appropriate to, well, you know.  Last night on Earth, and what not."

" _Oh god, Clarence,_ did you talk to Dean?  What did he say?"

" _Nothing._ Nothing.  I-I just mean.  We might not have much time left.  I'd like to spend that time with you."  Since he woke up in the hospital, Castiel had been unwavering in his honesty.  But sometimes his openness belied an underlying innocence.

"Listen here, _Clarence._   I wouldn't sleep with you if this were my last night on earth.  I wouldn't sleep with you if you were the last man on earth."  He tried to speak up.  Meg just held up her hand.  "Let me finish."  The boys at that moment chose to walk back into the cabin, paper sacks in hand likely filled with pie and beer.   _Oh well, she wouldn't let that stop her._   "I _would_ sleep with you if there were six billion other people on earth and we had the rest of our lives ahead of us.  Come talk to me when you understand what that means."  She grabbed her black jacket off of the wooden dowel next to the door and walked out of the cabin and into the woods.  Sam and Dean just stood there, mouths gaping, as she stormed past.

Castiel looked at his friends.  "What did I say?"  He reached into the pocket of his trenchcoat and pulled out a pack of _Uno._   "All I said was I wanted to spend our remaining time together.  I though she might play some cards with me, like she did in the hospital, with the last of our time together.  I'd rather play with Meg than play by myself."

Dean barked a laugh at that.  "I'm sure you would, Cas.  I'm sure you would."  He clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder.  "Come on.  Deal a hand for me and Sam.  I think it's time we give you _the talk_ about the birds and the bees."

"Oh good.  I love the bees."  Cas grinned at them, and both men burst out laughing at the total lack of comprehension on the angel's face.  "Hey, why would Meg want to sleep with me?  I'm an angel, and she's a demon.  I don't need to sleep.  Why would she think we would sleep with our last night?"  He drew his brows together in confusion.

Sam started coughing uncontrollably.  He picked up the cards that Castiel dealt to him.  He had two "Draw 4" wild cards.  This game would be his.  "Well Cas.  I think," Sam paused, unsure how to tell the angel that a demon was, well, he didn't really know how to explain things to him. "I think that's something you need to figure out on your own.  I heard her say to talk to her when you understand what it means." 

The three men played several games of _Uno_ before Meg ambled back into the cabin.  "Hey Meg, we were going to order some pizza.  Do you think the _pizza man_ delivers all the way out here?"  Dean began laughing at his own joke. "Do you think he'd come on time?"  This time Dean wiggled his eyebrows.

"No way, Dean," chimed in Sam.  "All the way out here, the _pizza man_ is guaranteed to take longer than thirty minutes to come."  He turned his grin onto the exasperated woman.  "Meg, do you want an _extra large?"_

Meg just blushed, hung up her coat, and sat in an armchair as far from the men as possible.  "Shut up."  She pulled out a celebrity magazine, and proceeded to ignore them.

"Meg."  Castiel seemed anxious.  "I'm glad you're back.  I'd like to spend tonight with you.  Come play with us."   He shuffled the deck a few times.  "But I don't think it's wise to order pizza.  Sucrocorp has tainted food everywhere."

"Yeah, Meg, Cas wants you to play with him."  Dean's grin was _so_ annoying. 

She was tired of the innuendos.  "Shut the fuck up, you fucking immature dolts."  It wasn't long before she got up and dropped into a chair at the table.  "Deal me in.  Let's spend the night together."  She looked over at her angel, and he was looking back. _Those damn eyes._

 

 


	5. In Crowley's Clutches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kevin Tran and Meg Masters are both imprisoned by Crowley. Meg attempts to help Kevin cope and escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Missing scene that takes place after "Survival of the Fittest", Episode 7.23 and "We Need to Talk About Kevin", Episode 8.01
> 
> Reminder that this fic is tagged for graphic depictions of violence and rape/non-con.

Crowley was losing his patience.  He'd had Meg and Kevin for a couple of months now, and neither had cracked.  Granted, most of the time he delegated the work to the other, lesser, demons.  Ever since the boys had taken out Dick Roman, or really the Leviathan impersonating Dick Roman, Crowley divided his time between his pet prophet and trying to take out the rest of the Levis, who remained leaderless.  Frankly, he was surprised he had any time to put Meg through the paces.

The problem was, Crowley reflected, was that he couldn't get Meg back to Hell.  He had to torture her on the mortal plane.  The crafty bitch had used a binding sigil, or rather millions of binding sigils all over her body to keep inside the human vessel.  There were tattoos, scars, and even etchings in her bones, all to keep her inside that meat suit.  They were years old.  It actually had affected how her flesh and bones grew.  Crowley had tried to remove them time and again.  He burned her tattoos.  He flayed her skin.  He crushed her bones.  Every time, Meg just healed her skin and skeleton into the same symbols.  Hell, even her fingerprints were binding spells now.  To be honest, although it was much more effective to torture a soul than a body, he kind of enjoyed the visceral nature of cutting her.

Today, she was hanging from the ceiling by her wrists, her arms pulled up behind her.  It had been awhile since Crowley had tried that one.  He liked to hang them so that their toes barely touched the floor.  That way the person could almost support their weight, but not quite.  Early on, he and his minions figured out that they needed to bind Meg's elbows behind her.  Otherwise, she could flip herself over like a trapeze artist, thereby relieving the pressure on her shoulders.  It seemed as though she knew a way to make every position he put her in more comfortable.

"Check out my shoulder definition."  Meg's sarcastic comment drew his attention to her "workout".  While she hung, she raised and lowered her body with her back and shoulders, and yes-they were defined.  "You know, I think I'll cancel my gym membership.  Your health club is to die for."  Her laughter was really getting on Crowley's nerves.  Earlier today, she apparently performed reverse crunches while hanging from the chain.  He really hated her puns, and Meg never seemed to run out of them.

He contemplated, as he always did, just killing the vessel.  Contrary to what the hunters all believed, demons couldn't be killed.  When they were exorcised or "killed", the demon soul just hightailed it back to Hell, but in a noncorporeal form.  After all, demons were just human souls gone darkside.  And, as far as Crowley knew, only HE could destroy a soul, not angels, demons, or humans.

 _No_.  The only way for him to keep Meg where he could find her was to make sure she stayed in a vessel.  After all, Crowley didn't even know which demon she was.  Meg wouldn't tell him her real name.  She had used so many names over the years.  Hell, _Meg_ , was only the name of some poor girl she possessed long ago.  He didn't even know the name of her current vessel.  He doubted he could find her again if she "smoked out".  Crowley knew his limitations.

"You should just give up, Crowley.  You aren't going to win this one"  Meg had watched him in silence for several minutes now.  "We both know that even if you could figure out how to yank me loose from this meat suit, you can't risk not knowing where I am."

She was bloody well right about that.  "How about I just skin you with a potato peeler again?"  That was another of his favorites, or it should be if he could get her to scream.  "Why won't you bloody break?"  Crowley was so frustrated.

"Do you want to know how I do it?  How I really do it?  How I put up with the torture of your douchey company day in and day out?"  Sincerity broke through her voice.  "I just let the human take it.  She's still alive, you know.  Her soul was never forced out by my possession.  She's been awake for everything.  When you think you're torturing me, you're just torturing my human."  Meg just smirked at him.  Always with the smirks.

"If that's true, why doesn't she talk when I torture the body?"  Crowley half believed her.  He didn't know why, after all her lies.  But he himself knew some of the best lies were the truth. 

"Because she doesn't like you...for the same reasons I don't like you."  Meg started swinging back and forth on her chain, whistling.  He _hated_ when she whistled.  Sometimes he forgot who was torturing whom.

 

That night they put her in a box.  Kevin saw them drag the trunk into the room next to his.  At first he didn't think much of it.  Crowley and his crew were always taking new tools into her room.  For the first few weeks, it had been hard for him to stomach.  The sounds he heard from the cell next to his normally caused him to retch up his food.  He thought it was part of Crowley's plan to break him.  He still hadn't agreed to translate the tablet for him.

Tonight was different though.  He heard them shove her inside it.  The trunk hadn't been that large.  She must be folded in on herself.  Her bones cracked as they forced the lid shut over her back.  Kevin heard a whoosh of air escape from her lungs, as the locks clicked shut.

"Meg!"  Kevin hissed through the concrete.  "Meg.  How long can you keep this up?"  She didn't answer him.  Ever since Crowley had taken them both, Meg made sure to talk to him every night.  Kevin didn't know why.  He didn't really care.  But he appreciated it.  It helped keep him sane.  Everything had changed so much since he had discovered he was a prophet. 

Meg didn't answer.  She didn't answer that night.  She didn't answer the next night.  It was a week before he heard from Meg through the wall again.

"Kevin."  Her voice was barely above a whisper, and sounded muffled.

"Meg!  What happened?!  Are you still in that trunk?"

"Yes, Kevin."  She sounded annoyed.  "Are you still training?  Like I told you?"

When they first came to Crowley's hideout, lair, whatever, Meg had told him to start physical training.  _You're a smart kid.  I get that.  You can probably outsmart everyone here combined once you accept what's going on.  But sometimes it helps if you have physical abilities, too.  It won't hurt anything.  And these goons would probably underestimate you anyway._ Kevin had never really worked out before.  He had always just studied, played instruments, and done a little martial arts training just to make the grade in gym class.  _You should do pushups, pullups, squats, and crunches everyday.  Do it in the morning before they come and get you.  Do it at night when they bring you back.  Do it whenever you can._  

"Yeah.  Just like you said.  My chest is killing me! What's going on?"  It wasn't a lie.  Those pushups were brutal.  But he kept at it just the same.  He knew Meg was a demon, but it wasn't bad advice.

"Kevin, you're going to have to find a way out on your own.  I don't think I'm going to make it.  Get out.  Find Sam."  Meg didn't tell him to find Dean and Cas.  Kevin had told her about their disappearance after killing the Leviathan.  "Do you remember his number?"  That was something else Meg had taught him.  She made him repeat Sam's cell phone numbers so many times, he memorized them soon after arriving.

"I remember.  What about you?  Are you okay?"  Kevin leaned against his wall, one ear pressed against the concrete.  It was so hard to hear her through the trunk and the wall.

"I'm fine for now, just a little broken.  But I haven't found an opening for escape.  I read a book once about a guy named Rand that was locked in a trunk.  I'm doing the same thing he did in the book, and cycling through muscle flexes to keep myself from weakening too much."  He heard her take a slow, shaky breath, and knew she was lying.  "Are you still looking at the tablet every day?  Make sure to look for something useful that might help you get away."

"I did find something yesterday-," he started to say.

"Don't tell me!  If you tell me, they might be able to get me to talk.  Don't ever tell me your plans.  Don't think about your plans to heavily.  Just do!  Do it.  Whatever it takes.  Get out of here.  Kill Crowley if you can.  Find Sam, and get him to kill Crowley if you can't."

Kevin was grateful for Meg's help.  Even if she couldn't actually "help" him, her encouragement kept him sane and gave him a cause.  After her first week in the trunk, spending her days in silence, Meg spoke to him through the wall every night. 

 

Somehow, Crowley found out about their little chats and found a new way to torture them both.  He started sending in demons, and sometimes the monsters he'd captured along the way, to assault her.  Kevin learned how much worse it was to listen to that through the walls that the times he heard them just beat or cut her.  He was just a kid, and had to sit one room away while he listened to demons and monsters rape his one and only friend in that horrid place.  She spent her days locked in the trunk while he was out "translating" the tablet.  At night, they'd haul her out for their games.  Meg knew he was there.  Listening to that nightmare.  After they would finish with her, and locked her back up, she would apologize to him through the wall.  _Meg_ apologized to _him_ because he had to listen to her being raped nightly.  

 

"Is it true?", he asked after the third night of assaults.

"Is what true?"  Her voice was still hoarse from her screams.

"Is it true that your human is still alive?  I heard some of them talking.  About you. About how you survive the torture.  You let her take it while you 'go away' inside.  What is her name?"

 "Kevin."  It was a few minutes before Meg spoke again.  "Her name was Elizabeth.  And no.  She left this body a long time ago.  No human is bearing with Crowley's torture.  Just me."

He was so relieved to hear that.  "What was she like?"  He could hear the pain in her voice.  But he learned that unless he kept her talking, she'd sob herself to sleep-or into silence.  He couldn't tell which, considering she was in another room.

"She wanted to be an actress.  She grew up in Michigan and moved to LA trying to make it big.  Elizabeth loved personality magzines, Entertainment Tonight, and soap operas.  Then she found a director who was casting for his couch instead of a movie.  That's when I found her."

"So you remember her?"

"I remember all of them."

"Meg."

"Yeah, Kevin?"

He leaned his forehead against the cold wall.

"Will you remember me?"

"Oh Kevin.  You're the young man who drove across the country to take God's word, steal it from angels and demons alike, and work to bring down the worst of the Leviathan.  Faced with the end of your world as you knew it, faced with the knowledge that all the worst you feared about Bible mythology was true, faced with monsters who wanted to have all of humanity for dinner, you did your job.  You want to be President.  You want to go to Princeton.  You chat with your girlfriend about college dreams and calculus problems.  And you talk to me every night.  _Me_.  An evil _thing_.  You talk to me every night to give me hope in a hopeless situation.  And I'm just as big of a monster as those goons standing guard outside your door every day."  She paused in her long speech.  "I'll remember you.  As long as you promise to forget me."

"Forget you?"

"Don't ever come look for me.  If I get out of here, I'm staying hidden.  If you get out first, the best favor you can do me is to forget me.  Don't tell Sam about me.  Don't tell your mom about me.  If you ever find Dean...or Cas...again.  Don't tell them about me."

"Are you-?  Is it that you don't want them to know what Crowley's done to you?  You have nothing to be ashamed of.  My mom taught me better.  It's not your fault they _rape_ you.  It's their fault.  They're to blame."

" _Kevin._    You still don't get it.  I'm a _demon_.  I'm a _monster._ This isn't my body.  I'm not this woman.  This is just a suit.  A costume.  What happens to this body doesn't happen to me.  It happens to a bit of meat."  Meg's voice shook with emotion.

"Then why do you tell me you're sorry every night after their done with your _meat suit_?"  He didn't believe her.  He knew that this was how she chose to cope with the situation.  Everything she did since he met her, had been self-sacrificing.

" _Kevin._ Leave it."  He could tell she didn't want to talk about it any more.  "Let's talk classic literature.  You're in Advanced Placement.  Have you ever read _Le Roman de Silence_?  I feel like having an in depth discussion of nature vs. nurture this evening."

 

Two nights later, they made him watch.

 

Three nights after that, he found the recipe for a _demon bomb._

 

A week later, he saw them drag her body out of the cell next to his.  Crowley only needed one guy to drag her out, because she had lost so much weight in captivity, Meg was now light as a child.  Through his window, Kevin could make out the hemorrhage stain on the back of her dark jeans.  Meg's arms, pale as death, dragged behind on the floor.  One wrist caught on a door jam, and the meat of her thumb pulled free.  Crowley sauntered down the hall after them.

"Where are you taking her?" Kevin was frantic.

"Oh, my boys are just taking out the trash."  He sneered at Meg's body as it disappeared around a corner of the hall.  "You're disposable, too.  My patience is wearing thin with you.  Do you think I won't get tired of you, too?"

_The trash.  He means Meg's body is just trash now.  She's empty._

_  
_Kevin made the bomb.  She was right.  Meg was right.  He could outsmart all of them once he accepted the situation he was in.  Staying there would only get himself killed-and many more people besides-if he worked for Crowley.  He would escape.  He would call Sam Winchester.  He said the phone numbers every night like a prayer.  Sam would help him.  Or he would help himself.

And he would keep his promise to Meg.  He wouldn't tell anyone about her.  What they did.  What she did.  How he could never help her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Episode 2.14, "Born Under a Bad Sign", we learn about the binding sigils that can prevent a demon from being exorcised from a human host. I took it to an extreme that would prevent Crowley from purging the demon from Meg's host.
> 
> Also, I'm not a fan of gratuitous torture, but we know from "Caged Heat" that Crowley and his minions use sexual torture on Meg. We also know from "Goodbye Stranger" the extent of some of Meg's injuries. Since we knew that Crowley took both Meg and Kevin post "Survival of the Fittest", I tried to think of how that captivity was for the two of them. From "Reading is Fundamental" we see Meg is actually nice to Kevin, and it made me think of how she'd treat him when they were imprisoned together. So I used Kevin's POV instead of Meg's so that we could think of how abhorrent this is instead of experiencing the torture through Meg's POV.


	6. Lincoln

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meg lives and recovers from Crowley's torture at a hospital, but everyone thinks she's a recovered missing woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this chapter, the fic is now fully AU/canon divergent since Meg survives Crowley's attack.
> 
> This takes place immediately after "Goodbye, Stranger", Episode 8.17. I want to remind you that this is tagged for rape aftermath/rape recovery/rape reference.

Meg listened and lay still. She heard the boys make their getaway in the Impala. It seems they were always leaving her for dead. Well. It wasn’t as though she wasn’t used to it. She had no problem lying still. She had lost so much blood. Her breaths were so shallow, her chest barely moved at all.

Crowley was speaking. She couldn’t make out exactly what he was saying, Meg was starting to black out. She could hear him wipe at his shoulder. _Good_. _The_ _bastard_ _deserved_ _to_ _be_ _stabbed_. She heard him flap his elitist handkerchief, and she heard the slap of blood as drops hit the gravel near her ear. Crowley spat on her. He continued with his smarmy tirade, and limped towards the warehouse. It was futile, but he probably figured Lucifer’s crypt was still worth a look.

As soon as she heard the steel door slam shut, and the echo of his footsteps disappear into the warehouse, Meg worked her right arm loose. Slowly, more slowly than she cared to admit, she worked her Samsung free of her back right pocket. _Damn_ _Smartphone_. It was hard to dial 911 when she couldn’t tell what she was swiping on the screen. Meg finally gave up and tried voice dialing.

“911, what’s your emergency?” the gentleman on the phone sounded bored.

“This is an emergency. My address is on Schear Lane, outside the old pet food factory. There’s a bunch of old trailers and storage cars parked in a lot near me. I need medical attention for a stab wound. There are several other people down. I can’t tell if they’re breathing. Please hurry. I don’t have the strength to put pressure on my wound. I’m afraid that I will bleed out.” Meg felt herself losing breath and consciousness while on the phone with the operator.  She passed out before the paramedics arrived.

* * *

 

The local sheriff pulled into the lot right after the EMT truck. He immediately called for help from nearby Windsor, Sedalia, and Osage Beach. If he were honest with himself, he would go ahead and call the Kansas City police as well to use their forensics team. It was horrible. There were bodies everywhere. Normally, the worst they see is someone drowned in the Truman resevoir, or they might have to break up a fight at the Estes Drive In.

After a few moments, they discovered only one woman among the bodies, and she was the only one left alive. “Shit!” Sheriff Carter was disgusted by what he saw. Several men in their prime had died tonight. Their only injuries consisted of various stab wounds. The young woman, on the other hand, was hard used. She had abrasions on her wrists and a swollen bloody face. Her left hand lay across her abdomen, her right hand sprawled out on the gravel lot with phone in hand. He could still hear the 911 operator trying to maintain contact.  The first responders made helping her a priority.  Her left hand had hidden a pretty nasty puncture to her abdomen.  Blood was still seeping from between her fingers.   _This must be the woman who made the 911 call._

Two EMT's kneeled over her, pulling up her shirt to stop the bleeding with a compress.  One looked up with concern.  “Sheriff, we need to get her to the hospital in Windsor immediately. She’s lost a lot of blood. But before we take her, you should know she’s been tortured. I see a lot of green bruising, and I can feel poorly healed breaks and fractures beneath the skin. Not to mention that her skin is crisscrossed by scar tissue and she looks malnourished.” John had been an EMT for 13 years, mostly in Osage county. However, he’d never seen the extent of damage to a body that he saw this evening. “Somebody took the time to put bandages on the rope burns on her wrists. They’re still clean, so it must be recent.”

Carter began dispatching his deputies to work the scene. With the other men dead, they could take their time processing the area. The parking lot turned red from the lights of the retreating EMT truck. _How_ _fitting_.

* * *

Green. Her hospital room was a pale green. It was a double, but no one was in the other bed. The curtain was drawn back, giving her a view into the hallway. Meg could hear the cart as it wheeled down the corridor. One of the wheels was squeaky. It stopped off at each room for at least ten minutes. _So. It was the nurse making the rounds. How odd._ The whole situation reminded of her of when she played Nurse to Castiel.

As she adjusted her position on the bed, Meg felt a strange pulling sensation. Various IV's ran from her arms to the stand next to her bed. She leaned over to pull the pole closer to her bedside, and almost passed out. Her stomach. She had forgotten about her stab wound. A few minutes of controlled breathing helped the pain pass, and then she took a closer look at the bags. One was just saline solution. That must be to combat dehydration. The other was a broad spectrum antibiotic. She contemplated using the call button, but figured the nurse was only a couple of doors down, and coming closer. She would wait.

* * *

Sheriff Carter was standing at the nurses' station at 3W getting another look at her file. He knew he could have delegated this, but something brought him back to the hospital everyday to check on its new celebrity patient. The case was hot. And he wanted to be sure he handled it well before the feds took it from his department. And they would. They always took the missing person's cases for the F.B.I. Sure, he'd be able to assist in the investigation, but he would no longer be running point. It might as well be, as he only had a few deputies. As it was, they were already leaning heavily on the Highway Patrol to help with the forensics processing. Most of the evidence had been sent to Kansas City for analysis.

 

 

Her fingerprints had come back last night, a match to a missing person's case from six years ago. He hadn't called it in yet, because he wanted to speak with her when she woke up. The media was always a complete circus when someone was found, and he didn't want the investigation compromised. Besides, there were clear signs of several persons escaping from the scene of attack. He didn't want to give them a heads up, and was doing the best he could to keep the woman's survival from making the news.

Cathy walked up to him from the south hall. She grabbed his eye, and gave him a nod. _She was awake._ Carter had known Cathy since highschool when he had dated her older sister. The whole neighborhood was thrilled when she got her R.N. "Can I speak to her?" Carter was still holding her binder with the physicians' notes on her wounds and condition. The court order for her medical records was folded neatly in his breast pocket.

"She's lucid," Cathy informed him. She pushed a lock of her red hair back behind her ear. It was a bottle red. Carter remembered Cathy's whole family being platinum blondes. "Jack, you saw her file. You saw what she looked like when they brought her in. Just because she's awake doesn't mean she can talk with you. It's obvious she went through a lot. This girl might not be able to live through it again to tell you the details." She took the woman's binder from him. "I need to update her file. See the station when you leave if you need any more information from it."

He walked down the corridor, past darkened rooms. Carter always hated hospitals. _All these people, all with different health problems, and it still smells like death to me. Maybe it's the disinfectant fumes._ It was after midnight, and the rest of the patients were sleeping. Only her light was on. He ducked into the woman's room with a quick rap of his knuckles on the door jam. "Ma'am, my name is Jack Carter. I'm the sheriff from Lincoln. I'm glad to see you're awake."

She looked terrible. Her face was mottled in fading green and purple bruises. There was a cut on her lip, scabbed over. One of her eyes seemed to wander a bit as he spoke to her. The hospital gown did little to mask the heavy bandaging about her waist. The woman seemed to have a hard time sitting up in the hospital bed, even though it was raised in the back. She was cleaner than when he saw her last.

"The charge nurse, Cathy, told me about you. She said all I have to do is press the call button when I'm finished speaking with you. I understand you have a court order for my medical records. I'd like to see it before I answer any questions." She held out her right hand, palm up.

Carter blinked. He was taken aback by how matter-of-fact the woman was. He calmly passed over the paperwork and watched as she read through it quickly. Most people move their lips when they read, at least in his experience, but she was silent. She was done in moments, lips pressed together in consternation.

"There isn't a name on the court order, just a case number for a person called 'Victim 1'. How do I know this pertains to me?" She was tough.

"The others did not survive. The rest of the people were found dead when we arrived. You are the only victim left alive. We couldn't give you a name in the warrant until we were certain of your identity. We received a match to your fingerprints last night, and the court order will be appended accordingly. So far, we've only petitioned for your medical records. We would appreciate you signing a HIPAA release now that you are awake." _Damn._ He hadn't brought it with him. He pulled a small recorder from his left front pocket. "I brought a tape recorder. I'd like to ask you a few questions so that we can find the people that did this to you and killed the others." He pulled up a chair close to the side of her bed and also pulled out a small notepad and pen.

"I would prefer if you sat further away. I'm sure you'll understand why I don't feel comfortable with strange men in my personal space." She waited while he scooted the chair to be facing her from the foot of the bed. "Thank you." She paused and took a breath. "I just woke up from a medically induced coma, wherein I endured several surgeries over the past three days. I may not be able to answer all of your questions, or perhaps I won't want to. I am far from being physically or emotionally recovered from recent events." She looked so calm, it was unnerving. He couldn't understand how she could be so calm about it all. Her statement was basically devoid of emotion, her eyes dead. "Do you know who I am?" she asked.

"Your name is Elizabeth Morgan, going by just 'Morgan' in your personal life. You are 33 years old. You were reported missing six years ago by friends. Your phone call to the 911 operator was the first contact you have made to authorities since you went missing." He stopped. And waited. She scooted up a little in the hospital bed, and pushed her hair behind her ears. It looked pretty scruffy now. The doctors had told him they had found a skull fracture in addition to her abdominal stab wound. The staff had cut some hair to stitch her scalp closed.

"Those men called me Meg. What else do you know about me?" He thought she would say more, but no more information was forthcoming.

"At various times throughout the years, your fingerprints have appeared at crime scenes. There had been speculation that you joined a satanic cult of some sort, as all of those crime scenes involved biblical symbols of demonology and several deaths. However, it would seem that those theories are incorrect, and you were the victim instead of the perpetrator. According to your medical records, you have the signs of someone who has endured years of torture. You have old and new breaks and fractures, as well as serious scarring." He paused, unsure how to proceed. "There are also signs of rape, object rape to be precise. A knife of some sort was used. Additionally, there are the telltale scars of flaying on your back. So many layers of skin were removed, the doctors feel only skin grafts would help you to regrow your damaged dermis. The rope burns on your wrists and ankles show how recently you were restrained, and for an extended period. There is also evidence that someone treated you for injuries, as you were found with clean bandages outside the factory." He paused again. "Now. Will you tell me what happened? Will you answer my questions?"

Morgan looked pained. "To my knowledge, no other women are being held captive. I'm pretty sure you can find more evidence at a motel in Lincoln. I think there is another body there. It seems as though you have most of your answers just from reading my file. For the time being, I'm going to restrict access to my medical records. I'll sign the HIPAA release later if you need some of my records for prosecution, but I won't permit access until then."

"Fair enough. Mostly, we needed the court order so that we could start a file in case you died. We needed evidence as soon as possible in case there were other victims out there." Carter was still taken aback by how reasonable Morgan was. The woman must have been through hell and back.

"Sheriff Carter, we'll need to continue this conversation tomorrow. I feel the recent events are catching up to me, and I don't know if I'm ready yet to talk about my ordeal." Morgan reached for the call button. "The next time you come to speak with me, I expect to have legal representation. I won't answer any further questions without a lawyer present. I believe that is usually the procedure for kidnapping victims. Am I wrong?"

 _God dammit. The woman had no right to be so calm about all this. All he wanted was the information to get the case closed before any more people died._ "You'll have your court appointed attorney tomorrow." He gathered up his tape recorder and notepad, and left her room. He looked over his shoulder as he was leaving In the dim light of her room, her eyes were black.

"So, Jack, how did it go?" Cathy met him at the nurses' station. The two turned to face back down the hallway. "I feel so bad for that poor girl. What she went through. She doesn't even have to say anything. You can see it in her eyes."

"Yeah." He shook his head, unsure of where this case would take him. "I'll be back tomorrow with legal representation. She unnerves me." Carter walked over to the counter with the charge nurse. "I know it must be disorienting to wake up here. Is there a hospital social worker that can speak with her, too? She will need help, and she deserves all we can give her."

"We don't have one on shift until tomorrow morning. I'll make sure she's the first patient she sees. She gets here at seven thirty." The call light turned on outside Elizabeth's room. "I need to go. Miss Morgan is a VIP patient. Only the charge nurses are assigned to her while she's here." She turned to go.

"Cathy," Carter called to her. "Tell your sister hi for me." She waived him away with a casual flip of her hand, and bustled down the hall to take care of their miracle patient.

* * *

 

 

The nurse came back in just moments after she pressed the call button. "Hon, you doing okay?"

Meg gestured roughly with her arms, sort of half shrugging and half raising them in supplication. "Are the IV's still necessary? I'm conscious now, and I can take medicine by mouth. I'm uncomfortable enough as it is, and would like to have them removed." She tried not to sound petulant, but it still came out that way. "The catheter is _definitely_ not necessary any longer."

"Alright Miss Morgan. I'll take care of that for you. Your doctor already has alternates written in your case history for when you came off the drip. You're still taking Morphine by injection though, once every twelve hours." Cathy busied herself at the computer terminal next to her bed. The screen and keyboard were mounted on an arm that swung from the wall between the two beds. Computerized records made things much simpler these days.

"I'd rather you called me Meg for now," she requested. She didn't offer any futher explanation. "Is there a TV remote in here? I've apparently been asleep for three days. I'm tired, but I don't want to go back to sleep just yet." _And face the nightmares,_ she added mentally. In a matter of minutes, her IV's and catheter were removed and Cathy left her with a late night rerun of _Entertainment Tonight._

With the nurse and cop both gone, Meg slouched back against her pillow. It wasn't very supportive. Hospital linens were never very impressive. She remembered that much.

Well, if she was going to recover and lay low, she might as well do it in a professional setting. The cops had already determined she was a kidnap victim of some sort of sex torture satanic cult. _Well, they weren't far off._ That was the gist of what Crowley's minions had been up to, minus the whole demon thing. Once they found the hotel in town, it would only support that story more. After all, the hotel suite was filled with dead bodies, Enochian symbols, and restraints in the bathroom. Her blood was all over the place.

In fact, her body served as evidence enough. Sheriff Carter's description was spot on, as much as Meg hated to hear the tally of abuse she had endured. She had been missing for years, beaten, broken, raped with a knife, held as Crowley's "chew toy", cut, stabbed, and flayed alive. They had moved her from town to town in seedy motels and abandoned factories. Her scars and x-rays would speak for her, supporting the story of her captivity.

With any luck, she would be left alone soon enough. Meg could beg off, stating a need for privacy during her period of recovery. She wouldn't be able to really help with any investigation anyway. It wasn't as if she knew the names of the vessels the other demons were using. Plus, she didn't really see the sheriff or an FBI agent using a devil's trap to summon and capture Crowley, or anyone else for that matter.

Despite her best efforts to stay awake, Meg felt her eyes begin to droop shut. The last thing she remembered was a Scrubbing Bubbles commercial. Man, she had missed TV. And books. And movies. Her mind drifted to _It's a Wonderful Life._ Morgan had seen the movie when she was a kid, or maybe Meg had watched it. It was hard to tell anymore which memories belonged to her.

 

* * *

 

There were several perks to working in the bunker left by the Men of Letters. There were no windows, Sam could work night or day on research, and the setting sun never alerted him to go to sleep. It was much easier to pull all-nighters. He also enjoyed the constant temperature. It might as well be a cave, cool in summer and warm in winter. With it in the upper sixties, he always wore one of his long sleeve flannels, and usually a field coat as well.  He didn't know how Dean did it.  He was always walking around in one of those old robes in his bare feet like he was in the Playboy grotto.  He shook his head at the thought.

He was surfing the internet, looking at weird news stories for probable cases, when an alert popped up on the laptop.  It was another email from Charlie.  She was taking this whole Scooby gang membership way too seriously.  Charlie was always trying to find cases, and just a handful turned out legit.  Of course, it always helped to have an extra pair of eyes to help with the hunt, and she was _much_ faster than him on hacking servers.  He reread the email.

"Dean.  Dean come look at this."  No answer.  He looked around the bunker, and didn't see his brother in the room.  "Dean!"  He screamed it as loud as he could.  _What?  He wasn't going to get up and look for him._

He ran out from behind some filing cabinets, panic in his eyes.  "Sam?!  Is everything okay?"  Sam saw his brother check the kleenex in the trash.  He still wasn't over the whole almost dying thing.

"Fine, I'm fine.  I just wanted you to see this email from Charlie.  She attached a police report from Lincoln, Missouri about several dead men and a woman who escaped her kidnappers."

"And?"  Dean raised his brows, not picking up on the town name.

"So.  That's where you picked up the angel tablet, and Crowley killed Meg."

"What, you think that's Meg in the report?  We saw Crowley gank her with an angel sword.  We saw her drop.  We saw the light go out of her eyes."  He met his brother's eyes.  "Damn.  One more loose end to tie up.  We have to check this one out, don't we?"

Sam gave a little nod, and flipped the hair out of his eyes.  "Charlie is certain this one is right up our alley.  The police found symbols that sound like Enochian writing in their report."

"That bitch has nine lives.  How many times has Meg died now, only to come back?  I say we put her down for good-for what she did to Ellen and Jo."  Dean looked pretty annoyed.

"I don't know, man.  She did help us with Crowley a couple of times, and sacrificed herself when we went after Dick Roman."

"Are you saying she gets a free pass for all her bullshit in the past?"  Dean was visibly angry.  "What about all the people she killed for Yellow-Eyes and Lucifer?  What about when she possessed you and killed those other hunters?"  He shook his head.  "No.  This black eyed bitch is finally going down now that we don't need her help."

There were still a couple of news vans parked out front when Sam and Dean pulled up in front of the hospital.  It's always a big story when a kidnapping victim is recovered.  So far, Meg hadn't given any interviews.  They learned she was going by the name Elizabeth Morgan now.  That must be the name of her vessel. 

Of course, they were in their suits, ready with up to date FBI badges.  They were more careful since they were made by that LARPer at the Moondoor fair.  It didn't take long to get them past security.  When they got to the ICU floor, Dean and Sam stopped.  The hallways were crawling with badges and psychologists. 

"Alright, until things calm down here, let's just get Meg's file.  I know we're good.  But we're not so good that we can get past that much brass."  Dean agreed with his little brother.

A moment later, he was leaning on the counter of the nurses' station, doing his damndest to flirt with the charge nurse. 

"Listen to me, McDreamy.  You don't have a warrant or court order yet.  Neither do those other agents.  Our patient was clear in not releasing her medical information.  Until the judge signs a court order, or the patient signs a HIPAA release form, you don't get to see her file."  The charge nurse looked like she could chew him up and spit him out.  That was the problem with hospitals in the country.  Most of the staff could hogtie the Winchesters without batting an eyelash.

As it turned out, Meg had enlisted the hospital's attorney to keep her records sealed by whatever means necessary.  Short of a personal interview with the local judge, Sam couldn't see the file.  It didn't take long to decide to get Charlie's help to hack the hospital's intranet server and access the records remotely.

She hacked it alright.  But true to form, Charlie read the file before sending the data on to the brothers.

"What do you mean you won't send us the file?"  Dean was incredulous.  "You were able to get in weren't you?"

"Yeah, Dean.  But I read it first.  And I'm making the executive decision not to send it to you.  Her medical records are of a very personal nature.  I don't care if you think she is a demon.  Whatever she went through is so dark and horrible, there's not a chance in hell, which I now know is a real place, I'll let you read the report.  I don't care if she is an evil baby eater.  What she endured is so horrific, only she should choose whether to let others know.  I won't be a part of this, and I'm deleting the data."  Charlie hung up on him. 

Dean spent a moment just staring at his phone.  It didn't have quite the same effect as if she had slammed a handset down, but he got the picture.  "Dude, you need to see if you can get in to the hospital's records.  Charlie won't help us,"  he explained to Sam.

Hours later, Sam hung his head in frustration, and crumpled up another empty coffee cup.  "She killed me!  She killed my laptop!" 

"What, Sammy?"

"Charlie added a trojan horse.  When I tried to get into the hospital's server to access the files, a worm downloaded and now all I have is this looping YouTube video of Frodo Baggins."

"Let me see."  Dean crowded behind Sam's chair to watch the video on the laptop.  "Sammy, that isn't Frodo Baggins.  That's Willow!  How can you not know the difference between Warwick Davis and Elijah Wood?  We're talking about original work versus Lord of the Rings fanfic.  Come on!" 

Sam twisted around in his chair and glared at his older brother.  "Dude, you are such a nerd."

 

 

They were baffled.  Everyone was protecting Meg, or who they thought _must_ be Meg.  They still hadn't seen any photos of the patient at the hospital.  There was only one thing left to do.  They had no choice but to go undercover.  The next evening saw Dean pushing the linen cart through the halls.  His baby blue scrubs were just a little too snug for comfort.  Of course, the nurses on staff didn't seem to mind.

Sam made his rounds as a social worker.  To make his ensemble complete, he carried a clipboard _and_ a binder.  It wasn't too hard to swipe some pamphlets from the family waiting room to look like the typical state social worker. 

Thankfully, last night's charge nurse was not on duty.  There were still two agents at Meg's door.  Orderly Dean slipped past them with clean linens, sneaked into her room, and stopped.  She was awake.  And she was Meg.

Meg lay in bed reading a book.  Half her hair had been cut off, and there was a bandage on her scalp.  Dean could see she had been wearing an IV recently.  There were actually two bags of a saline drip still hung up next to the bed.

He coughed and looked down.  "Don't mind me, miss.  I brought extra blankets in case you get cold."

Meg glanced up, gave him a cursory look, and then turned back to her book.  "Thank you.  Can you set it on that chair, so I can reach it without getting up?  I'm afraid I'm not quit mobile enough to make it to the closet." 

Dean bustled about the room-it was a double-but no one else occupied the room with her.  After arranging some extra pillows and a blanket on the chair near her, he lingered by the clipboard hung at the end of her bed.

"Put that back!" she called out at him without looking up.  Dean slowly put the clipboard back on the hook.  "You don't have my permission to look at my file, you're just an orderly.  I don't know who you are, but you have two seconds before I hit the call button."  She went back to reading.

He didn't really know what was up, but apparently she didn't recognize him.

* * *

 

The next time they tried to get access to Meg, she had been moved from the hospital.  She had entered a group home under the name Elizabeth Morgan.  Sam decided they needed to bring Castiel with them this time.

"Cas, I think you should come on this case with us.  I think we found another undercover demon.  You know I'm not allowed to try curing any on pain of death-or really Dean's disappointment.  You can have a go at this one.  Think of the soul you'd be saving."  The lie came easy.  Mostly because it was the truth, if not the whole truth.  Sam tried his best to convince Castiel to come along, and he finally relented.  Dean's angel had been so pouty since he lost his grace.

The brothers were surprised to find out that the group home was for women and children recovering from trauma.  Places like this weren't really well known.  Sam guessed there was a reason these shelters were not advertised.  It was probably for their protection from crazy husbands, boyfriends, and predators.  It made him uncomfortable to think about the types of circumstances that led these women to live at this home.  It seemed part women's dorm, part halfway house, and part homeless shelter-except with more sadness.

There was a receptionist, who they quickly found out was also the activities director.  The woman, a Mrs. Broughton, frowned as they came in.  "Gentlemen, I'm going to have to ask you to wait in the side office a moment and I'll join you."  Next, they heard the buzzer of the front door locking, as well as a few of the pocket doors in the lobby sliding shut.  "You'll need to excuse the security measures.  But you know safety is a top priority for our residents here.  Now, how can I help you?"  Mrs. Broughton settled into a large leather chair across from the three men.  They took that as an invitation to sit.

"Ma'am," Dean began, "We're with the FBI.  I'm agent Taylor.  These are my partners Guthrie and Goffin."  All three showed their fake badges.  For the first time, Castiel did not fumble with his, or flip it upside down.  "We're looking into the disappearance of a young woman who was last seen with one of your patients.  We thought she might have some information regarding her whereabouts, considering what her circumstances were."

"Residents."

"Excuse me?"  Sam asked.

"The women and children that live here are residents.  They're not patients and they're not victims.  They are residents.  They live and work here as part of a community of healing."

"Ahem, yes, well, residents.  If you don't mind looking at this sketch and file name, we'd love to ask this woman some questions.  If she is here, can you arrange a private interview?  We'd like to keep the details of her ordeal, and those of this remaining woman, as private as possible."

Mrs. Broughton glanced down at the sketch.  "Well, that looks like Morgan.  She is one of our more settled residents, although she is the most recent arrival.  I'll let her know you're here.  It is up to her if she will give you an audience.  If she agrees to meet with you, you should know she will be wearing an emergency lanyard.  One beep from her, and I'm afraid your interview will be at an end."  The woman got up, and left them locked in the sitting room.

While they waited for Meg to arrive, Sam quickly drew a devil's trap on the ceiling over the doorway.  He was the only one tall enough to reach that high.  She'd be trapped as soon as she walked in.  Meanwhile, Cas paced the length of the room. They only told him they were after Meg when they were already in the car on the way there.

Sam could feel Cas' nervous energy.  He knew his brother had resolved weeks ago that this time he would finally kill Meg.  Sam didn't exactly feel right about that.  She had made so many sacrifices on their behalf over the years.  But the loss of Jo and Ellen still hurt years later.  Sam felt it was hard to reconcile the two Meg's he knew.  There was the evil bitch who had possessed him and killed their friends, working for Lucifer from the beginning.  And there was the reformed demon who took on hellhounds, Crowley, and Leviathan for them and the world.

To top it all off, Cas wouldn't talk to Dean or Sam about Meg.  He always figured something went on with those two at the hospital, but he didn't know how far it had gone.  The angel was particularly vulnerable right now after Metatron betrayed him.  Sam didn't know if his brother could still kill Meg and look his best friend in the eyes.

Meg walked in and slid the pocket door shut behind her.  Her eyes immediately went to the three men, and never left them.  "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes," she quipped.  She leaned back back against the door and crossed her arms.  A smile split her face, but the smile didn't reach her eyes.  It reminded Dean of a wild animal baring its teeth.

She looked awful. Her hair stood out like a brush from one side of her head where they had shaved it for her surgery. The roots were blonde, like the rest of it. That solved one question. The rest of her curls were pulled to the side into a messy pony tail. She had noticeably lost weight, but her face was swollen. It was probably from the steroids they gave her at the hospital to bring down inflammation. Both eyes were rimmed in red, and one didn't seem to focus on them very well.

Sam thought that even when they found her in very vulnerable positions, she always managed to look arrogant.

"Meg, we have some questions for you." _Like, how did you survive an angel sword to the stomach._ "We need you to come with us."

The smirk dropped from her face. "I'm not going anywhere. And my name isn't Meg anymore. Not here. What do you want?" Her hands, pale and weak, reached for the lanyard around her neck. "DFS said only law enforcement would know where I am. So why are you here?"

Confused, Sam looked to his brother and exchanged a look. He frowned back, equally stumped.  _Was she playing dumb?_

"Meg," Cas said from behind him. "Are you hurt?"

"Hurt?" She laughed. "Am I hurt?" She stopped leaning against the pocket door and moved into the room. "Does it look like I'm hurt? Does it look like I have a skull fracture? Does it look like I have a detached retina? Does it look like I have broken ribs, skin grafts, stab wounds, long healed scars, and new cuts?" Her voice was beginning to sound frantic. "No. I'm not hurt. _I'm damaged._ " Her voice shook with emotion.

Meg began to pace the length of the room, much as Castiel had earlier. She sat down on one of the sofas. Their friend sat across from her, staring, not saying a word. "Why don't you heal yourself?" he asked. Cas almost reached out a hand.

"That's why I'm here. For healing." The note in Meg's voice told him she thought he was a moron. "They'll find me otherwise." That made sense. Using her powers to heal would only attract other demons to Meg's location. He found himself nodding as he worked it out.

Only then did Sam realize that Meg was no longer standing inside the devil's trap. He put out an arm and held Dean back from following her to the sitting area. "She stepped out of the trap, Dean. Something's wrong."

 "Shit!" Dean scrambled back. "Shit shit!!" He fumbled into his jacket and pulled out a flask of holy water. "Castiel, get back from her. I don't think that's Meg."

As he started forward, Castiel looked up and turned, half blocking Dean's advance towards the her on the sofa. _He's always trying to protect Cas, when he's really the one who needs protecting._

Meg just looked up at Dean and gave a little smile. This was different from before. It wasn't her smirky smile. This smile was sad, she tried to say with her eyes. Or at least, she tried to in the eye that could still focus on him. "Dean." She didn't get up. She didn't raise a hand. She didn't tense her body. Meg just sat there, waiting for the Winchesters to attack. Dean reached her a moment later, knife in one hand and flask of holy water in the other, already tipped for splashing.

Dean flicked his wrist, and all four of them stared at her arm where the water beaded up like oil. _Nothing._ There was no steam. No hissing noises. And the she definitely did not shrink back from the splash. _Nothing happened._ His feet shuffled uneasily on the floor. It was obvious Dean didn't know what to do and looked at his brother. Sam just raised his eyebrows and shrugged, just as stumped as he was.

It happened so quickly, Castiel was still in the process of getting up from his seated position. He grabbed Dean's wrist as the knife slashed down towards Meg. "No."

"Hunh." Her surprised tone made the men all turn to look at her again. "I was expecting something a little more final." Carefully, she wiped the water drops off on a throw draped over the armrest and got up. "I really don't think the knife will work at all, but I'd rather not try it, if it's all the same to you." Meg's voice was calm now, not at all like earlier when she sounded so paniced. She didn't really know what got into her before. "I've had enough of being cut up to last a life time."

She got up, and walked past Dean and Cas, where they were still locked together staring at her. She reached out a finger and pricked it on the end of the knife. _Nothing._ She held it up for all to see the blood well up into a scarlet bead on the pad of her finger, then licked it clean. There was no steaming blood or cries of pain from her. _What was going on?_

"If you're not Meg, who are you?" Sam asked.

"Oh, I'm Meg, alright." She looked around at the three men. Castiel was still holding Dean's wrist. "Are you boys done holding hands?" They looked at each other and Dean slowly sheathed the knife, turning to face her. "I don't know what information you think I can give you. I'm pretty sure I'm in no shape to help you take out whatever you happen to be working on right now, so you can just forget it. Even if I wanted to help you, I physically couldn't do it right now. I'm off my game."

"Meg, are you hurt?" Castiel asked it _again._

"Shut up." She could barely look at him.

"Were you cured? Like Crowley?" _That_ got her attention. She swung her head to stare at Sam. "Well, he's almost cured."

"Cured of what? Being an ass? You know what? Don't tell me. You'll just draw me in again, and I don't have the strength anymore. I want all three of you to leave. And leave me." She turned back to the sliding door, and slid the panel open. "Our little interview is done. For the sake of the other people who live here, don't come back. You owe me. All three of you owe me, and you've never came looking for me before when I was left for dead or captured. Just let me be for once. Let me be a selfish demon and live my life in this body." Meg walked out into the hall and back upstairs to the dormitories. Mrs. Broughton stepped back into the lobby and ushered them out.

* * *

Once upstairs, Meg slumped against her door with her head down, breathing hard. It took awhile, but Mrs. Broughton had experience with shooing pesky people out of her dorm. She was better than a bouncer at a club on the east side. She needed to be, in order to protect the women who lived here. Many of them had escaped pretty shaky home lives, and some were living under new identities.

As always, she listened to the Winchesters drive away. Meg thought back to all the times she listened to the Winchesters leave her. They left her when Castiel threw her into holy fire. They left her after she had taken on two hellhounds and Crowley for them. They left her behind when Castiel went crazy. They left her when she crashed through Roman Enterprises. They left her when she fought Crowley outside Lucifer's crypt. Hell, they even left her human vessel behind that one time that she made the mistake of dispossessing her meat suit. Her vessel, Morgan, had memories of their car squealing out of the motel parking lot. It really was a boys a club, and it made her sick.

Meg would have to leave. They knew where she was now, and her staying only put the rest of the residents at risk. Not only would the Winchesters come back, but so might angels or even other demons. Meg would have to leave. For herself. And for the other women that lived there.

She went to the window and looked out. The Impala was still turning in the circle drive, and she could see the boys as they pulled away. As she looked down, Castiel looked up through the back window and met her eyes. The car stopped, and Cas appeared to argue with the brothers for a few minutes. Finally, Sam leaned his seat forward, and opened the door, letting the angel out. A cell phone was flipped out the open car window, and Cas caught it in mid air. The car sped off in a cloud of choking road dust. It smelled sort of like Tums-chalky.

Castiel turned in the drive and looked up at her again. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to.

Mrs. Broughton stomped down the front steps of the home, yelling at him to get off the property. "It's okay, Mrs. B. He has my permission to stay. It was the other two that were bothering me." She hurried off the porch as quickly as she could and grabbed him by the sleeve of his coat. "We'll talk outside by the patio. That way you can see me from your office, and we won't bother the other residents any."

"That's fine, Morgan, if you know what you're doing. I saw them badges and their paperwork was in order, but you know how I feel about my girls. You have your lanyard on, so just give a buzz if you need anything." The activities director bustled back into the house. Some of the others would soon come back on the shuttle bus from their jobs in town, and she had to prep the house for their return.

They sat there on the patio outside Mrs. B's office for ten minutes before either one said anything. Meg sat on the concrete bench, and he sat nearby on an iron garden chair. Neither looked at each other, but rather just gazed at the pots set around the ten by ten brickyard. She could play the silence game. She learned very well over the past few years how silence will tell you everything you need to know about the other person as they grew more and more comfortable.

"I've fallen." His voice was always deep, but it sounded sort of broken as he said it.

"For me? You shouldn't have." She tried her best to sound flippant. To sound like the old Meg, but it didn't really seem to come out right.

"No. I mean I've fallen from Heaven. So have all the angels. I've lost my _Grace_. I'm-I'm mortal now."

She looked up at that and met his eyes. "Clarence, you fell long ago. You rebelled. You rebelled against your orders. You rebelled against prophecy. You rebelled against revelations. You've already fallen. It wasn't your Grace that made you an Angel of the Lord and it isn't your lack that makes you mortal. Losing your Grace doesn't make you any less an Angel than having blonde hair makes me any less Meg."

"Are you hurt?" _Always with that damned question._

"Of course I'm hurt. I was hospitalized. I was in a coma. I already explained that to you."

"No, I mean, I don't know. You're different. Are you hurt in other ways, I guess is my question. Can I do anything?" His brows were furrowed, and the angel's eyes looked more blue than ever.

"Well, it looks to me, Clarence, that I'm not the only one who looks hurt and seems different around here. You know what happened to me. What happened to you?" _She needed to deflect the attention onto him._ Meg leaned back on her bench. There was a trellis behind her strung with trumpet vine. The sweet smell was almost too much, but it was more comfortable to lean back than support her weight sitting upright. She still had a lot of healing to go.

Meg thought about how lost Cas looked. She had never met anyone with so many identity crises. It was strange. He didn't always know who he was, but he was the one person who made her certain who she was. "Why did you stay behind?" she asked him. "What did you hope to accomplish?" The two of them never really had many heart to hearts. Being this upfront with him was certainly difficult, especially after the last time they got to talk one on one.

"Dean and Sam wanted to, to question you. You see, they-we-thought you were dead." He was stuttering. It made her nervous.

"And they're disappointed?

"NO. No. It's not like that. Actually, there's a demon cure that they discovered. It's like an exorcism, but instead of expelling the demon from the human body, it cures it. They asked me to come with them today to help cure a demon. I didn't know it was you until we were in the car on the way here." Castiel seemed out of breath from the explanation.

"So...you wanted to cure me. With what, magic? Brainwashing?" _This was upsetting. You couldn't just make demons good again._

"It's more like a blood transfusion with the blood of a purified man. He goes to confession first, and..."  She felt sick as he went on to discuss the process.

"NO! It's not happening. What you're talking about is wrong. You can't change me, only I can change me. Are you really telling me that you boys are out there curing demons by going to confession and then pumping them full of your blood?"

"Well, no. Sam can't do it because he almost died during the trials to close the hellgate. I was going to cure this one, I mean you." He started to look confused. "Don't you want to be cured? Don't you want to be human again?" _Like me._ The unspoken words hung in the air.

"Cas." She was serious. She didn't want to make light of this by using her pet name for him. "Is that what you think? Someone else asking forgiveness isn't going to make me or any demon a good person. Even if they're 'cured', they would still make the same mistakes that led them to Hell in the first place, because their moral values would be the same. A person needs experience and a desire to change for them to be a better person. And what happens to the human soul in the meat suit when the demon soul is cured? Who gets ownership? Do they share?"

"I don't know. They haven't finished the ritual on a demon yet. Crowley came close, though."

"So you don't know." She was _hot._ This was so infuriating. They called themselves Team Free Will, but were willing to take away the free will of demons. "And you would have me be your Guinea Pig. What if it kills me? What if it kills the human? What if both our souls die, because the only thing keeping this body alive is the fact that I'm a demon? What if I live, but my mind is whitewashed. I wouldn't make decisions based on my own judgement, but instead I would act based on some magic values system. Would that make me a good person, or someone who doesn't have free will? I want you to think about these questions. And I want you to know that I won't submit to this."

He looked pained, with his brows furrowed. "I remember what you told me. That you missed when things were easier during the apocalypse. We were good or we were evil, and there wasn't so much in between. Sometimes I miss it, too."

"If things had stayed that way, you would have brought about the end of days for humans and demons alike. You would have lived out eternity with the likes of Uriel, Raphael, and Zachariah," Meg pointed out. "And you _never_ would have loved humanity the way your God did. That's something else for you to think about."

With that, Meg stood up, waved at Mrs. B in her office, and started back towards the front of the dormitory. Castiel hurried to catch up with her. "I remember what else you said that day." He let the memory of her promise go unspoken.

"Fat chance, Clarence." She spun around at that. "If you think I'm still in the mood for pizza after being told you want to work some mind control mojo on me, you are sorely mistaken. Tell your friends not to come looking for me. I'm leaving, and with any luck, I'll never have to see the likes of the Winchesters again. Now that you're _human_ , I doubt you'll be able to come get me wherever I hide, as you always could as a pain in the ass angel." The front door slammed behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Does anyone else think it's strange that the Winchesters leave all these bodies everywhere and there isn't more news coverage about occult murders? Because I think it's strange. The first few seasons actually dealt with this, if you consider the character of FBI Special Agent Victor Henriksen, when the Winchesters were wanted for a string of murders. So this chapter was basically about the fallout of what happens when someone is rescued from one of the 'cases'.
> 
> Also, I want to remind you that in Episode "Born Under a Bad Sign", we learn that devil's traps do not work on Meg.


	7. St. Louis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meg hides in plain sight, but there is a misunderstanding. Suspicious suicides at a commercial haunted house lead Sam to help James and Portia look for an unnatural cause.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are in full AU mode. Nothing is related to season 9. Going forward, all chapters are case fics.

Meg liked her new job at the Tums factory.  They gave her a raise after her first six months, and benefits kicked in for her. Last week, she finally had a different apartment instead of a flop house in the industrial district.  Morgan's car had been repossessed years ago while she had been missing.  Meg wished she could have had the conveniences of her vessel's private property, but it was all gone now.  In the mean time, her new apartment was within walking distance of the MetroLink.

Of course, she still had all those hospital bills from Lincoln and she was hard pressed not to declare bankruptcy.  Thankfully, the bulk of the medical debt was already paid off by donations.  When she had first been "rescued", some _very_ kind people had started a kickstarter campaign to fund her medical recovery and stay at the trauma center.  When she fell out of the news, the donations stopped coming in.  But it was still a big help.  Meg thought the public's awareness had increased over the past few years with the rescues of those women in Cleveland and the discovery of the woman and her kids in California that had been captive fifteen years in some creep's backyard.

Her social worker, Sara, had been very helpful over the last year.  She had helped coordinate her stay at the hospital in Lincoln and the transfer to the trauma center.  When Elizabeth decided her best bet was to disappear to avoid the Winchesters and their damned cure, Sara had also assisted with her vessel's name change from Elizabeth Morgan to Elizabeth Masters via the Social Security Administration.  She even helped with job placement.  It was sort of like witness protection for her.  Afterall, the sheriff and the FBI task force had never caught all of the group that had kidnapped her, so the federal government was quite accomodating in helping her assume a new identity.  So, she was Elizabeth Masters now, a little bit of two of her longest lived vessels, Meg Masters and Elizabeth Morgan. 

Sometimes Meg felt a little guilty in leaning so much on government assistance.  But that guilt never lasted long.  Her situation wasn't a lie.  Sure, she was a demon, but Crowley and his minions _had_ kidnapped and tortured her, holding her captive ever since the Roman Enterprises incident.  Just because she was a "bad guy" didn't make what happened to her any less horrific.  The part that sucked though, was that Elizabeth Morgan had been missing so long, that her health insurance had lapsed.  And Meg didn't _dare_ spend her powers on healing, just in case it sent up a red flag to any wary demons or angels in the area.

She shook her head, trying to dislodge the memories.  It never did her any good to dwell on those dark times.  She waited on the platform for her train to arrive.  Unlike a lot of the other demons, Meg decided she would hide in plain sight in a big city.  St. Louis.  The Winchesters had good reasons not to come back here.  Dean was wanted for attempted murder in the skinwalker incident (even though he'd faked his death numerous times), and their Leviathan dopplegangers slaughtered everyone in a roadside diner here about two years ago.  At least, she hoped that would be enough to keep them away.  Seriously, those Levi jerks had gotten video of them killing the patrons and those images were all St. Louisans saw for months.  If they came back, it would be hard not to be recognized.

Some of the other demons she worked with over the years preferred to keep to small towns, living off the grid, and using only cash from those they'd killed.  That was just stupid.  It drew attention.  Every hunter she knew was always suspicious of the person who paid only in cash.  So she moved to a city and worked a regular job.  Meg didn't even carry cash.  She only used credit, and swiped as much as possible.  She played the TV loud, drank at the corner bar with her coworkers, made noise as she tramped up the stairs in her apartment.  All the things that made people normal.  Cas had always complimented her on how she liked to lay low.  Well, this was how she did it.  _By living._

Her train arrived, and she slumped on with everyone else.  Not many people used the mass transit system here in St. Louis, it was surprising.  It was always packed on game nights though.  She leaned her head against the window, arranged her blue book bag over her chest, crossing her arms over it, and shut her eyes.  It reminded her of Morgan's memories of riding the school bus.  Morgan always slept on the bus, and the rhythmic jolt of the cold bus window against her temple wasn't even enough to wake her.  Meg Masters though, she used to walk to school with her little sister.  And Sam.  He'd never been at any school long enough.  Mostly he was dropped off in the Impala, if he even went to school at all. 

Sometimes Meg wondered.  How many of the demons that escaped from the Hellgate were just living life?  How many took someone's body, and decided to just live?  Not hatch schemes and not plot murders.  How many were out there, just going through the motions, happy to have a second chance?   Meg never really had any difficulty distinguishing betweent the different memories of her victims that bounced around her head.  Just like she never had any problems going by whatever name she happened upon with each possession.  She knew lesser demons that went crazy with each new possession.  Of course, maybe they were just crazy to begin with.

Nine stops later, Meg got off the Metro and began her walk home.  She had just enough time to make it back to her flat before going to the bar.  It was Monday, which made it TV night at the corner bar.  Sometimes, if she tried really hard, she could pretend she was Elizabeth Morgan, and that year in Crowley's care happened to someone else.  

Tonight the bar was loud, and crowded with students from the nearby university.  It was some sort of alumni night in addition to college football, and all the bars around campus were filled with obnoxious students, past their prime alumnis, and the regular townies.  All the better to disappear.  Meg scanned the crowd as she walked in and didn't see her crowd for TV night. 

"The banquet room was booked for a private party," Tom, the bartender, told her.  "It's the St. Louis Hawkeye club tonight on top of all the alumni for SLU.  So, no TV night for you guys."  He went back to pulling taps and chatting with the regulars sitting at the bar. 

All of the high tops were filled, and so were the booths.  Meg wasn't about to waste a night out, so she leaned in between a regular and one of the servers who had just gotten off shift.  She held up her index finger, and Tom rushed over again. 

"Draft or bottle?"

"Draft until happy hour is over, then switch to bottle."  She had plans to make a night of it.  Sure, it was a Monday, but she didn't have to be back at work until eleven the next morning.  She could afford to get a little buzzed, especially since she was walking home.  It was a good thing she had turned in to such a bar regular herself.  She knew enough of the fellows that she could flit around the room and chat, without someone feeling she was leading them on.

* * *

 

Dean wasn't happy about coming back to St. Louis.  The last time he and Sammy had been in town was to interview that priest about the demon cure last year.  They did have a couple of friends here, like Sam's college friend Zach, but it had been tense ever since the skinwalker incident.  St. Louis always gave Dean the creeps anyway.  Maybe because it was home to the most famous exorcism in the nation, and he always felt it was sad what that little boy went through.  It really had nothing to do with him being wanted for assault and murder.  Not at all.

Either way, it sucked to be back, but their friend James, a good witch in the police department, convinced Sammy and him that they needed to come and check out the Lemp manion and brewery before they went through another Halloween.  It was supposed to be one of the most haunted places in the nation, and several paranormal teams had investigated it over the years.  So far, no one had been able to put the spirits to rest, and the employees at the dinner theater were still quitting left and right.  James said a high percentage of workers at the mansion, and the seasonal ones at the haunted house in the old brewery, were found to commit suicide shortly after quitting their jobs with Lemp.  Dean and Sam had tickets for the dinner theater tomorrow night, and he was going to do some "investigating" at the local bar while Sam researched online from the motel.

He pulled the Impala into the lot, surprised to see the bar took up an entire corner of a strip of old art deco buildings.  The lot was full, so he pulled around back and parked by the nursing home.  When he was old, if he ever got to be old, he would want to live in a nursing home within walking distance of a bar.  He walked in through the breezeway, and immediately turned around and went back to the car.  Everyone was in jeans and T's.  Dean stuck out like a sore thumb in his FBI suit.  A quick change in the backseat saw him walking back in wearing comfortable jeans and a brown and green checked shirt. 

It was standing room only, and obviously full of kids watching college ball.  Each part of the bar had blocks of color according to the fandom.  By the windows sat the Kansas fans.  The Mizzou fans took up six tables by the dartboards, and through the doorway, he could see Hawkeye black and gold in the banquet room.  It felt good to be in the midwest.

Glancing around, he spotted the busy waitresses.  _Man._ He felt old.  The servers looked about twelve years old in short shorts and tight T's, carring huge round trays piled high with wings, skins, and poppers.  With no place to sit, he sidled up the the bar and leaned in, getting the bartender's notice.  It was a young guy, about Dean's age, with a buzz cut.  He gave him a nod, finished up with two orders placed by the servers, and then ran over to take care of him.

St. Louis was an AB town, with the headquarters not too far down the street from the bar, but he wanted to try some something else local.  "Do you have Schlafly on tap?"  Sam might do his research on hunting, but Dean was a pro at knowing which beers were carried where.  He glanced over when a woman put her hand on the shoulder of the man next to him.

"Chris!  Good to see you.  How is Janice?" 

The beer glass was under his nose in just a moment, and he fumbled for the bills to pay.  He knew that voice anywhere, but he turned away to look in the mirror over the bar.  Sure enough.  _It was Meg._   He chose a stool further down the bar, as one of the games finished.  Dean made sure to keep his eye in the mirror so he could watch the demon.  She seemed to move around the barroom a lot, chatting with just about every man in the place.  He noticed the only ones she touched were the old ones-sixty year old alcoholic regulars.  All the men in what he figured was her age range, she talked to, but at a distance.  Happy hour ended, and he watched her switch to bottles.  _So, Meg's a Smithwick's drinker._  

She looked different than when he saw her at the women's home.  And she _definitely_ looked different from before she had been kidnapped.  No more leather jacket and purple club shirt.  Meg almost looked like a normal girl.  She wore a red v-neck tee with dark blue jeans and sneakers.  Her hair, a light brown now, was tied up in a french braid.  It hid the shorter strands from where the nurses had cut off her hair for surgery.  It had been almost a year since they last saw her. 

"She's not going to go home with you."

Dean turned, and saw the bartender leaning over towards him.  His nametag read 'Tom'.  "I wasn't-"

"If you want to try your luck, try somewhere else, but leave her alone," Tom said.

"What's her deal?  She talks to just about _everyone_ here." 

"Nobody really knows.  That's Elizabeth.  She started coming in about six months ago.  She'll talk to everyone, but doesn't talk about personal shit, you know?  All she talks about are books and movies and comics and games.  She's one of our best customers, too.  But not because she spends a lot of money here.  It's because she makes everyone else want to come back.  She organized a movie night, a trivia night, a Warhammer night, and she has nights for different TV shows.  All the sad, lonely regulars come back because not only do they have someone to drink with, but they have someone to watch movies and TV and play games with.  It's been great for business."  They both turned to watch her.  "She does the choosing, and flips out if someone else puts the moves on her.  So don't mess with her, because every employee here will have her back."

Dean continued to drink, and only flirted with the waitresses half-heartedly.  About closing time, he saw Meg lean over and whisper in some guy's ear.  He saw the man's eye's widen, in what he could only assume was shock, because in a heartbeat, the guy paid his tab and rushed out.  Meg quickly signed her receipt and followed right behind him.  Dean glanced back at the bartender, who mouthed _told you so._

He waited until the count of five, paid his own tab, and then followed them out into the parking lot.  He saw Meg folding her drunken mark into the passenger side of a Nissan.  When she hopped into the driver seat, he noticed she had to move the seat forward.  Obviously, this was his car, the poor fool. 

Dean tailed them to a motel on Watson Road, just a couple of miles from the bar.  It looked like a bunch of roadside hotels from the movie _Cars._ That made sense, since this was basically old Route 66.  It even had some art deco spaceship sign above the motel office.  He saw the Nissan parked at the fourth room down.  Each motel room had it's own carport.  It was actually kind of cool looking, like someplace he and Sam might stay at sometime.

He had it all.  Ruby's knife, a flask of holy water, a shotgun with rocksalt, and the Colt as a back-up.  Since they're run-in with Abbadon, they'd been carving devil's traps on all their shell casings.  He didn't know why they never thought of it before.

Through the curtains, Dean saw Meg reach for the man's exposed throat.  He could hear them struggle.  When he saw her throw him on the bed, Dean burst through the door.  The first shot gun blast missed, and Meg spun to tackle him.

"Run, Mike!  It's my ex.  You're not safe," Meg screamed over her shoulder.

Dean didn't understand, but he whipped the flask out and splashed her full in the face.  She flinched, and Dean brought up the blade, but she was too fast and blocked it.  He dropped the flask, pulled the Colt out and released the trigger. 

Meg fell to the floor and slumped on her knees, the blood soaking her shirt.  The man ran past them both, and they could hear the Nissan pealing out of the parking lot.

"Chivalry is dead," she whispered.

Dean, waiting for Meg to die, looked at the motel room.  He _really_ looked this time.  The covers were pulled back on the bed, two pairs of shoes were on the floor. And so were Meg's blue jeans and a man's shirt.   She was using her right hand to staunch the bleeding in her left shoulder.  He stared down at her in horror.  "You went for his throat."

"I kissed him on the neck."

"You threw him on the bed."

"I was going to join him."  She looked up at him, as the blood seeped between her fingers.

"This wasn't a demon attack."

"It was a one night stand."

"You're not dead yet."  The realization dawned on Dean, as he heard the sound of sirens in the background.  With the sound of the sirens getting closer, Dean panicked.  He grabbed Meg just under her right arm, pulling her to her feet.  She stumbled as she tried to rise, but didn't resist.  More than anything, she looked dazed. 

"I don't have time for this.  You're coming with me."

Meg shuffled forward a step and then stopped.  "I'm not wearing any pants."

Dean swore, then holstered the Colt.  He grabbed the flask from the floor where it had fallen and tucked that behind his belt as well.  Meg sat back onto the edge of the bed and struggled as she tried to pull on her jeans.  Her left arm didn't seem to know what it should be doing, and Meg had difficulty gripping with those fingers.  Seconds later, Dean found himself kneeling on the floor in front of the woman he had just shot.  He finished helping her into her jeans.  He'd done this once before.  Dean tried not to think about it.  He finished by cutting her bloodied shirt off of her and grabbing both her sneakers, and pulling her through the door to the Impala.

Not three minutes had passed.  They still had a chance to make it out before the cops arrived.

As they pulled out of the motel parking lot, he dialed Sam getting his voicemail.  "Sammy?!  Change of plans.  I got made by the cops.  I'm taking Baby out of town.  You'll have to finish the Lemp mansion without me and get a ride from James out of town.  Call me when you're done, and I'll meet you half way."  He hung up and looked over at Meg, laying prone in the backseat.  "As soon as we make it out of the metro area, I'll pull over."  She was passed out.  _That wasn't a good sign.  Do demons even pass out?_ Dean had no clue. 

About ten miles out on I-44, Dean pulled over into a dark parking lot in a razed industrial park.  There was an old Chrysler sign in the empty field that he parked behind.  They must have torn down the factory.  He helped Meg from the backseat, emptied a water bottle over the bullet hole, and wound some bandages over it.  She used her good arm, and crossed it over her bra.  When he was done tending to her wound, he pulled a flannel from his duffel and helped her into it.  Meg didn't say a word.

"Dammit, Meg.  There's no exit wound.  This isn't good."  She looked up at that, and he could see the pain in her eyes, but no tears.  "I have a guy that can fix you up."

"Can I just go to the hospital?  I promise not to tell them about you."  Her voice was smaller than he remembered, and not nearly as pushy.

Dean swore again, rummaged in the trunk, and pulled out a small, black book.  He began to recite in Latin. _"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, et secta diabolica,_ _Ergo draco maledicte et sectio_ _Ergo draco maledicte et legio secta diabolica_ _Ut Ecclésiam tuam secúra tibi fácias servire libertáte, te rogámus, audi nos..."_

Dean trailed off.  Nothing was happening.  Meg wasn't writhing in pain.  No smoke billowed out from her mouth.  He didn't see the demonic black eyes flicker.  This could mean only one thing.  _There was no demon._ Well, now he knew for sure.  There was some evidence back at the women's trauma home that something was off, but Meg had always been stronger than most demons they knew.  At least-the old Meg they knew had been stronger.  Dean wasn't sure who, or what, he was dealing with now.  He did know one thing, though.  He had just shot a woman who was rescued from a kidnapping less than a year ago.  A woman the news media knew had been through torture and rape and had been missing for more than five years.  If Dean didn't have Meg healed from this gunshot wound, there was going to be a special place in Hell for him.

He put her in the passenger seat and buckled her belt.  "I'm taking you to Olathe.  I can have you healed there.  It will be like I never shot you."  He hopped back in to the driver's seat and took off.  Instead of driving back to St. Louis, he took 44 to highway 47, taking it north towards I-70.  It kept him out of St. Louis county, in case there was a BOLO out on his car.  "Do I call you Meg or Elizabeth now?"

"What does it even matter?  When you look at me, you think of Meg.  You think of how Ellen and Jo died.  I've had many names over the years, and Meg is just some poor girl who died a long time ago.  This body is Elizabeth, but I'm not her either.  Just memories."  She sounded just so _tired_.

"Well, who are you then?  Who are you really?  If you're not 'Demon Meg', what does that make you?"  He was so frustrated with this.

"I've had many names.  I'm all of them.  Every single person I ever possessed.  They're all in my mind.  I'm even your little brother Sam, as he was six or seven years ago."  Meg paused for a few moments.  "I forgot how long ago that was.  But you can still call me Meg."

"Are you telling me you're like some kind of demonic Sybil?  I don't think you're not a demon anymore."  Dean watched her slide lower and lower on the bench seat.  "I did all the tests, and can't even exorcise you, unless you're too strong for that now."

"Dean, what are demons?  Do you even really know?  You've been hunting since you were a kid, but you didn't even face your first real demon until you were twenty six on that airplane-and how much do you remember of that anyway, because you're afraid to fly."

He swung his eyes around at that.  "How do you know about that?"

She tapped her forehead with her right index finger.  "I have Moose's memories, remember?"  She scrunched her face, lowering her arm back down to rest on the top of the door next to the window.  "Demons are people.  Everyone forgets that.  Demons are people that died.  We're just twisted up ghosts from time spent in Hell.  You, more than anyone, should understand how that experience can change a person.  But what makes us _demons_?  Are we demons because we're evil or are we evil because we're demons?  I want you to think about that, because those are two separate things."  She slouched even further into her seat, taking the pressure off of her left shoulder.  "I don't think I have the energy for so much philosophy tonight.  You just shot me, and I want to know what you're going to do about it."

"Well, I can't take you to a hospital.  I don't care how well you think you lie.  I have devil's traps carved all over that bullet in your body.  After your 'rescue from the cult', I don't need anyone asking more questions that they have to."

"You know, don't sneer at my 'rescue'.  No matter how you spin it in your head, I _was_ kidnapped and tortured for more than a year.  I _was_ raped.  With a knife.   _You_ were there for that one.  I don't care how 'evil' you think I am.  Does that justify the treatment I received?  Is it any less of an assault because of who I am?  Do you think I was  _asking for it?!_ "

"Oh, come on.  It's not like it's your body."

"It is my body.  I'm in it.  _Cut me, do I not bleed?_ You look at it and you see me.  And what about the actress from Cheboygan?  How many demons have you chained up and tortured for information over the years?  In my recollection, it involves a little Latin recitation, a little holy water, and maybe scraping that knife of yours down a forearm.  You do it for information.  What happened to me wasn't for information, at least not until the end once Crowley was hot for that tablet.  I was a 'chew toy'.  I was a thing.  An object to be played with for amusement.   You need to check your privilege."  Damn, she was livid.  Well, he had to give it to her.  He did shoot her.

"I'm taking you to an angel.  One that isn't super pissed at us.  They might not be able to poof around the world anymore, but this one still has the rest of his powers."  Dean thought about Gabriel.  He was glad to have him back, even if he was still a pain in the ass.

"I thought the angels fell?  Aren't they all like Cas now?"  Meg didn't even open her eyes anymore while they spoke.  He didn't know if it was through anger with him, or loss of blood.

"Cas lost his Grace.  Metatron ripped it out.  The rest are just blocked from entering Heaven."

"Great.  Angels and demons.  It sounds like a book I read once.  A bad one.  And I'm stuck in it as a plot device.  Can an angel even heal me?"  He heard a hopeful sound in her voice.  "Can they heal old wounds, too?  I don't think I really have the stamina for another hospital stay like last time."

"I told you before, I don't think you're a demon anymore.  You passed all the tests."  Maybe the demon died when Crowley stabbed her, and all that was left was memories, like she said.  "So he should be able to heal you."  When he didn't hear a response, he looked over and saw she had fallen asleep.

Dean didn't really know what he was going to do.  He could call James at the police department.  But he worked in Illinois in East St. Louis, not St. Louis County.  He didn't know if the witch had any pull at the other departments.  Meg was a special case, since her vessel had been so high profile.  Really, a kidnapped woman, missing for years, resurfaces after an escape showing signs of being bound and tortured.  He almost felt sorry for her.  And then he remembered Ellen's face while she held Jo as both he and Sam walked out of their lives.  And he didn't feel sorry for her anymore. 

It was still another four hours til they arrived in Kansas.  It was a shame Gabriel couldn't come to them.  If he could just trap an angel in every major city, it would be a hell of a lot easier.  Or if Cas had his powers back, but he didn't know where he was anymore.  He reached for the dash, flipping through the stations.  Everything in central Missouri seemed to be country stations or right wing talk shows.  Dean settled for country.  He found a station that played classic country, when it still used to be good.  _Ring of Fire_ was playing.

* * *

 The slapping of the windshield wipers were lulling Meg to sleep. She creaked her left eyelid open, glimpsing the yellow beams from the headlights on the road ahead, and then promptly fell back into her daydreams. The condensation on the inside of the window wetted her right temple as a bump in the road slammed the glass pane against her head. _No matter._ If she could sleep on the school bus as a kid, she could survive one bumpy car ride. Meg slid a little further down on the leather seat, the belt cutting in just beneath her ear.

The sound of the radio jolted her awake. Country music. _Ugh._ Meg gave a little groan and fumbled at the dashboard for the dial. _Aaah. Grand Funk._ She had to turn it up.

"Hey, I was listening to that," Dean grumbled.

"Tough. Doesn't this piece of tin have any bass?" She struggled upright in the seat and looked around. "You drive all night?"

"Yeah, not much longer now. We'll get you fixed up," he insisted.

"You already said that." She gritted her teeth as they hit a pothole. "I need new bandages."

He pulled the car onto the soft shoulder, spitting up gravel, as he brought the car to a stop. In moments, Dean rummaged around in the trunk and emerged at the passenger side door with hydrogen peroxide and clean bandages. Carefully, Meg unbuttoned her shirt, sliding it off her left shoulder. Well, it wasn't _her_ shirt. That was left behind. It was Dean's shirt from his duffel bag. He gingerly unwound the bandage off of her shoulder in silence. It stuck in a few places, causing Meg to suck in her breath from between her teeth. Dean filled the bottlecap with the peroxide and poured it over the bullethole in her shoulder. It foamed for a moment, the white bubbles fizzing out in about a minute. He deftly wound the replacement bandage, tying it off and tucking in the ends. Dean didn't meet her eyes until he had buttoned up the shirt again.

He cleared his throat, stood back up, and brushed his hands on his jeans. "Well, then." He trotted around to the trunk, tossing in the used bandages and the peroxide bottle. Dean slammed the trunk with both hands and jumped back in the driver's seat. "You'll be okay. We'll take care of you."

"You already said that."

"Hmph."

Rocks shot out from the edge of the road as he pulled back onto the highway and Elizabeth rested her head back against the window. "What were you thinking?!"

 _What was he talking about? "_ What?"

"What were you even doing there? I could have killed you. I _meant_ to kill you." Dean's lips tightened into a line, his mouth turning white around the corners.

"Excuse me, but I specifically remember a _Do not disturb_ sign on the door knob." Dean swerved the Impala. "Watch where you're going, you're over the line!" He drove back to the right side. "I didn't exactly plan on the Monster Squad walking in on me, I swear. But I just couldn't sit by and do nothing when I thought he was in danger," Meg explained.

"He wasn't in danger. I thought I was protecting _him_ from _you_."

"Whatever. If you'll just get me to a doctor, then you won't have to deal with me again."

"I already told you that I can't risk taking you to a hospital, not after your history. How can I explain a bullet carved with sigils lodged in your shoulder? They'll just think that cult found you again." He gripped the steering wheel tighter. _Knights in White Satin_ was playing on the station now. "How do you think your _friend_ is doing?" he asked after a few minutes.

"He'll be fine. I told him you were a crazy ex, and he had no problem buying that line. In fact, I'm pretty pissed he felt comfortable running off, leaving me with my crazy, stalker ex who had a gun. Some prize." Meg _was_ pissed at him. She guess that was what she got from random hookups though, so she really shouldn't be surprised.

"Well, we couldn't exactly tell him the truth either, could we?"

"Just like you couldn't tell a 911 operator what happened? What do you normally do on cases, because I've got this suspicion that you just leave the innocent bystanders to pick up the pieces. You've left me behind before, so it's basically more than a suspicion. You know, I'm a pretty good liar. I could have-"

"Ugh! Enough! Maybe that's why I'm taking you to be healed, I don't know." Dean turned the music up and drove the rest of the way in without talking.

He pulled up in front of the warehouse at about seven, and drove behind into an alley. A quick toot of the horn caused a bay door to open in the back.

As the Impala entered the warehouse, the shadow of the building swept over them. It took a moment for Meg's eyes to adjust. When they did, she noticed the warehouse was empty except for one man who stood in the middle of the dark space. He looked short, even from this distance, but even from there, she could see he had _power_. He was standing inside a circle aflame. Various symbols adorned the windows, walls, and doors in the place.

The man opened his eyes. _Molten gold._ "Well, well, well, if my eyes don't deceive me. Did this stray puppy follow you home? You know you can't keep her."

Dean climbed out of the car and gathered Meg out of the passenger seat. They walked towards the ring of fire with him partly holding her up. Meg had felt weak for some time from the loss of blood.

"Gabriel, I need you to heal her. I-I shot her."

"Why should I help you? Or her? Your team of misfits expelled my brothers from Heaven. Solve your own problem." His amber colored eyes glinted with anger. This wasn't the jocular Gabriel she had heard so much about.

"I shot her with the Colt, _and_ the bullets were carved with Enochian sigils and dipped in phoenix ashes. I honestly don't know why she isn't dead yet already. Any surgeon can remove the bullet, but what about her soul? A bullet from the Colt will still kill her."

" _Dean,_ " she hissed, "You didn't tell me you _poisoned_ me." She was horrified. "Why would you keep that from me?"

"Plus," he went on, ignoring her, "We kind of owe her one."

Gabriel turned those warm eyes onto her, and she squirmed under that speculation. She took her right arm from around Dean's shoulders and thrust out her hand. "Hi, I'm Elizabeth. Nice to meet you." Dean's arm was still about her waist.

"Elizabeth. I don't think so. Maybe once." He looked down at her hand as it reached forward over the circle of flames. "You're Meg. Or atleast, that's what you think of yourself as now. But you've had other names before." He looked at her outstretched hand again, and grabbed her by the wrist. Gabriel pulled her over the flames and into the circle, watching her flinch. Nothing happened to her. "Interesting," noted the angel, as Meg looked down at herself in panic. Her eyes widened slightly in surprise, and mirrored the confusion in his own. He turned to the hunter. "Dean, she is a mystery to say the least. I'll heal her, but I need to get out of this damned ring of holy fire before I do." Gabriel pushed Meg, stumbling back over the flames, and followed her out as she broke the fire circle.

Meg stepped back slightly once free of the flames and turned to Dean. "I don't think I like your friend. He's kind of creepy in a sassy way. Can you just remove the bullet and skip the handwaving and magic words?" Her eyes searched his. "I'd rather let you do it than him. I think you have a lot more experience with bullet removal the old fashioned way than some cloud jockey."

"Come on, Meg. Gabriel is an angel. He can do a complete healing of your wound, and I can't."

"Umm. I'd just rather you did it. Just pull out the bullet and stitch me up. I'll take my chances with the phoenix ashes and sigils. I know the rules. Angels need permission, they need to be prayed to. You've changed my bandages all the way here. You've been gentle with me-my-shoulder so far."

"You don't trust me?!" Gabriel sounded shocked. "What, afraid I'll exorcise you or burn out your demon soul? You're probably right." He turned back to Dean. "Is she wearing your shirt?" The angel waggled his eyebrows at the both of them.

Meg began to sway, the shock of the night and loss of blood catching up with her. "Can we get started?" Her knees finally gave way, and she sunk. Dean rushed and caught her, then slowly lowered her to the concrete floor. Just before Meg lost conciousness, she heard the two of them basically agree to act against her wishes.

"Dean, I'll help. I'll save her vessel before it's too late." Gabriel's voice was insistent.

"Give your word you won't gank her-and _no more Tuesday's_ , and you can help." She saw Gabriel nod at Dean, and then the angel put his hand over her left shoulder where she lay on the ground. Everything faded to a brilliant white.

* * *

As she opened her eyes, it took a moment for the room to come into focus. She was still in the same room as before, the main part of the warehouse. Now Meg was lying in the dust on the warehouse floor, Dean's shirt beneath her and the cold concrete. She blinked once. Twice.

Directly overhead, Dean and Gabriel peered down at her. "You're up. Good." Dean clipped his words short. "Come on, we're finished." He slid his right arm under her back and helped her to sit up, draping his shirt around her shoulders. It revealed a neat row of stitches in her skin. She was amazed at how little swelling there was. "I did what you said and removed the bullet and sewed the sutures myself. I let Gabriel stop the bleeding and cauterize the veins. He had to heal a little so that you wouldn't die of blood loss. If you want, he can heal you all the way so that there is no scar."

"No thanks. I don't trust that it won't send up an angel beacon for others to find me. I can't take that risk." She looked to Gabriel then. "I guess thanks for not killing me. I'll heal the old fashioned way for the rest."

Dean rolled his eyes. "You're definitely weird." He grinnd at her. She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes, narrowing them, and then laughed. Meg couldn't help it. It had been such a crazy night to go from hunter prey to touched by an angel.

"How long was I out?"

"We kept you out until I finished the stitches. You have very little bleeding thanks to Gabriel."

"Well, thanks again. I guess I forgive you for shooting me, and I appreciate being patched up," she paused, "but _definitely not_ forgiven for ruining my new life." Gabriel nodded at her thanks and turned to walk off through the exit door. "See ya around, pretty boy."

" _Meg_ ," Dean interrupted, "we should talk about your taint."

She just laughed. "I don't have the equipment for a taint." She smirked at him, happy with her crude joke.

"Gabriel said there is a darkness inside of you that blocks him. And really old, really horrible injuries. And the holy fire didn't burn you. We need to talk."

Meg's breath caught in her throat. "I've been burned before. Maybe it only works once." She shrugged and buttoned up her shirt-Dean's shirt-and rolled up the sleeves. "Anyway, how should I know. Demons don't come with instruction manuals." She turned to look at him. "I don't know what trouble you're mixed up in. I'm trying to lay low and only care about self preservation at this point. If you haven't noticed, it's pretty chaotic with all the angels and demons running around lately. No King of Hell. No Heaven Access." She huffed out a sigh. "Well, I guess we better get some sleep. You drove all night to get me here. I don't want you to drive all the way back without some rest. Can your Lemp case wait until tomorrow?" Meg shuffled back to the car. "If you want, I can drive a little so you can rest, but we should really find a motel nearby."

Dean opened his mouth, and then shut it with a loud clack. "Actually, there's some sofas in the office. They're a little musty, since this place was abandoned, but they're serviceable." He turned on his heel and walked toward the back of the warehouse. He looked over his right shoulder at her. "Coming?"

Meg shut the car door and followed Dean into the dark interior. They weaved between dusty, broken pallets and a pair of conveyor belts which led from the dock doors on the east end of the building. It looked like a warehouse used for deliveries, not manufacturing. There were no windows, and no insulation among the rafters.

He opened a door, which led into a carpeted hallway. The dust was thick on the floor. "Are you kidding me? Are you too cheap for a motel? I'll pay. This place is too filthy for me and _my wound._ " When he didn't answer, she shrugged and kept following him. They made their way around a corner and turned left down another hallway. Dean led her to a room at the end on the right. The door opened into what looked like an old break room.

"Sam and I had to stay here a couple of other times, and obviously we used it to lure Gabriel recently." Dean pulled some sheets from the two sofas. The sofa on the east wall, to the left of the door, had a blue floral print. He pointed, "That one's a pull out." On the wall opposite the door stood a green couch, or maybe it was brown. "I'll take this one." He went to a tall steel cabinet and pulled out two garbage bags. From inside, he produced a couple of sleeping bags and pillows.

Meg struggled to open the pull out sofa. She stumbled. Dean caught her before she fell and led her to the green couch. He assured her he would set it up for her. Meg closed her eyes. It must be from the lack of blood. When she opened her eyes again, Dean had made the pullout sofa with both sleeping bags and had tucked her in. She had slept through being moved. Dean was hunched over on the green sofa. He looked so uncomfortable. The couch was too short for his body. It must've been a love seat.

* * *

 

The sun streamed in through the windows high up on the walls near the ceiling, maybe about ten feet high.  The daylight shone through in streaks due to the layers of grime and dust on the glass.  Dean blinked himself awake and the night's events came rushing back. 

"Good morning," Meg groaned, her voice hoarse.  She slid out from under the sleeping bag and swung her feet onto the floor.  She used her right arm to push herself upright.  "I still feel light headed.  I probably need to eat some meat or something today to help make more red blood cells."  She peered over her left shoulder at Dean.  "Come on, sleepy head!"

Dean jumped off the sofa and he began putting everything away and directed Meg to the bathroom in the warehouse.  The water wasn't shut off, but the valves did need to be opened before using the sink or toilet.  "The landlord keeps the utilities on in the hopes of leasing this space again," he explained. 

It was some time before Meg came back into the old break room.  She frowned, and looked to the side.  "Dean, I'm afraid I need to have you help me again.  Can you make a sling for my left arm?  Movement seems to strain the wound in my shoulder.  What your sassy angel did for me helped with most of the pain, but there's still a lot torn up."  He didn't have a problem with that, and they were both ready to go in another ten minutes.

On their way out of town, Dean pulled into a truck stop for breakfast.  Meg had eggs, sausage, hashbrowns, toast, and juice.  In fact, her platter was larger than Dean's. 

"So...what do you do?  I mean, for a job," he attempted.  He had stolen Meg from St. Louis so quickly the night before, that he suddenly realized he didn't really know much about what she was up to.

"I work at the Tums factory."  Meg talked around a mouthful of hashbrowns soaked in egg yolk.  "I load pallets and trucks.  And I get to take home all the Tums I want.  My social worker helped me to find the job."  She took another stab at a sausage link, and practically inhaled it.  "It might not be as exciting as saving the world every day, but I enjoy it."  Her chewing slowed.  "I guess I'll have to find a new job.  A new city.  A new identity."

"A new vessel?"

Meg narrowed her eyes at him.  "I don't think so.  That would just draw attention."

"So you're really doing this thing?  You're going to play at being Elizabeth Morgan or Masters or whatever?"  Dean finished his pigs in a blanket and drowned it in coffee.

"I'm tired Dean.  I told you and your brother and your boyfriend that I'm done."  Meg called over the server and asked for an additional side of French Toast.  "And can I get my powdered sugar in a little pip kin instead of syrup?  I'm a dipper."  The server rushed off to the kiosk at the side of the dining room to add in her order.  She snorted out her nose while chewing another mouthful of sloppy, mixed together, breakfast food.  "You know, I'd really rather go back to St. Louis, though you ruined my chances of a normal life there.  Do you have any tricks up your sleeve to get me back?  You know, _without_ a police investigation?" 

"Do you have a cover story?  You know, with your fake identity."  Dean signaled the waitress for the check, and turned back for Meg's answer.

"Yeah, I'm Elizabeth Masters.  My boyfriend of ten years, Luke, died.  We were engaged.  I dream of him every night, hence why I don't commit to any relationships.  I only do hook ups-"

"Wait, what?  You made up a dead fiancé?  You named him Luke?"  _Lucifer._

"It's a perfect excuse to fob off anyone wanting to get serious.  With the lives people like us lead, it's senseless to-"  She stopped talking when the server came back with the bill.  "Anyway, I can socialize without anyone getting too close."

"Wait, people like us?"  He shook his head at the term.  "What does socializing mean to a demon?  Or whatever you are now?"

"Dean, stop.  I'm a demon.  I'm still Meg."  Her eyes flickered, darkening to an oily black.  "Maybe I'm just too strong for your usual tricks to work on me."  Meg batted her eyes again, and they were back to hazel.  She reached for her wallet.

He grabbed the check out from under her nose.  "I got it.  Don't worry about it."  The waitress tidied away their dishes and brought back Dean's card.

"Thank you Mr. Betts, " the waitress said, before rushing back off to the server station.

Meg raised her eyebrows, "Mr. Betts?  Dicky?"

"Come on, you don't think I pull in a salary doing what I do, do you?"  She huffed in exasperation at Dean and he swore he heard her whisper _criminal_ under her breath.  They both scooted out of the booth and piled back into the Impala.  He continued their conversation once he was back behind the wheel.  "There might be a way to cover up what happened at the motel.  I have a connection in the East St. Louis police department.  A witch.  I'll call him from the halfway point and see if there's anything that can be done.  We need to go get Sam anyway." 

Dean let the miles roll away while they listened to one of his cassette tapes, a mixed tape no less.  It was two hours till they got to Columbia, and Meg seemed not to be inclined to break their silence.  "So...do you still want to go back to St. Louis?  I mean, you can leave your factory job and your fake identity and come work with us."  He didn't exactly understand why he was making the offer.

"I can't say yes to that; I need more details.  Either way, I want the mess you caused in St. Louis cleaned up.  Fix that, and we can talk.  My social worker would be out of her mind thinking I'd been kidnapped or killed.  I don't want that on my conscience."

"Conscience?  Do demons have a conscience?"

"You know what?  Stop it with the "holier than thou" attitude.  You totally just offered to have me stay and work with you guys, but you question me about a conscience?  What is _wrong_ with you?"  She fidgeted with the sling on her arm and slouched a bit further into the seat.  "Just call your cop friend or whatever and fix the mess you caused for once."  Meg turned her face out the window and stopped talking to him.

* * *

"What do you mean, you shot Meg?" Sam sounded incredulous on the phone.  "I thought you said the cops made you and that's why you left town."  He ran his hand through his hair, tucking it in behind his ears.  He began waving James over, from where he was filing his report.  "Uh huh, and what's the address of the motel?  Yeah?"  Sam scribbled down the details and passed the notepad over to the him.  "You really fucked things up this time, you know?  Yeah.  I'll see you later.  _After_ James and I clean up your mess." 

"Family problems?"  James was in uniform today, as he had had to make a report to his captain and the DA earlier about the investigation into the Lemp suicides.  The SLPD hadn't been happy that the precinct from the east side had interfered.  Not only was it a different precinct, but a department from another state.  Sure, Sam was helping James look into the suicides, but the brass still liked their cases tied with a bow.  Sam's fake FBI cover story was the only thing keeping James from administrative leave at this point.

"You could say that.  How do you feel about stretching your neck out for us again for another mess west of the river?"

James sighed.  Then sighed again.  "At some point, we'll be even, and I won't owe you any favors anymore."  He looked around the department, but too many officers were in today.  "Come on.  You can buy me a cup of coffee.  And a donut."  Portia _was not_ going to like this.  Sure, the two of them owed the Winchesters.  At the least, he owed them his job.  At the most, if he were honest, he and Portia owed them their freedom and their lives.

James may have felt comfortable at their table, but Sam kept glancing around nervously.  "Dude, what kind of coffee shop is this?"

"It's more than just a coffee shop.  It has a full menu and ice cream.  There's wifi and computer terminals available.  Coffee Cartel is also widely involved in a lot of charities in St. Louis, and it's open 24/7.  It's popular with college kids, neighborhood residents, and LGBT groups.  It's an award winning shop.  It's a St. Louis thing.  I thought you might appreciate someplace with local flavor while you're stuck in town."  His voice trailed off when he realized Sam's problem.  He stuck out like a sore thumb in his plaid shirt and field coat.  Coffee Cartel was mainly filled with stylish St. Louisans, trendy students, and some annoying hipsters in skinny jeans.  A lot of the patrons were giving him second looks.  And some _men_ were giving him third looks.  Sam shifted in his seat even more.  "Man, you and your brother need to get out of small town mid-America more often.  You're really drawing more attention to yourself by being nervous about the attention you're getting."

"Yeah, well, I guess this is just really different from Sioux Falls.  And were college kids always so...so, I don't know.  So young?"  Sam pushed his hair behind his ears _again._   "I think I feel more like an old man than ever."

Once they picked up their order, salad and a smoothie for Sam, turkey club and a coffee for James, they got down to business.  "So.  What mess do you need cleaned up?"

"Do you remember how I said that Dean called and said the cops found him?  Well, it had nothing to do with the skinwalker business or our Leviathan doppelgangers.  We know a demon, a woman that came here under a new identity.  Dean ran into her at a sports bar last night.  He saw her pick up a man and take him to a motel, so he followed her and shot her when he thought she was attacking the guy."

"Let me guess.  It was a hook up and not a demon attack."  James was never one to shoot first and ask questions later.  He had to be careful as an officer, but the Winchesters had never really followed protocol.  "What happened?"

"Uh, Dean said she convinced the guy to run off, but he shot her in the motel room before he figured things out.  When he heard the sirens, he panicked, and took her with him out of the city."

"And you need help with the crime scene."  It was pretty easy for James to see where this was going.

"There's more to it than that.  This demon is sort of a celebrity, but in a rather horrific way.  When she was "rescued" from a gang of other demons, she made national news as a woman who escaped a sex-torture cult, and-"

"Elizabeth Morgan."  James cut him off.  "Your demon is Elizabeth Morgan.  And Dean shot her.  In my city.  When she wasn't doing anything wrong."

"You know her or something?"

"Her social worker met with all the departments in the bi-state area when she was renamed Elizabeth Masters and moved here.  We were briefed on her case and put on alert because there was a fear that the cult would try to track her down.  But I guess she really needed to be afraid of hunters, not some cult.  What really happened?"  James set the rest of his club aside, sick to his stomach to think of what the woman had been through.

"It was kind of true.  Meg, you know her as Elizabeth Morgan, she was taken by another demon and tortured for more than a year.  We found her, and she helped us keep some information out of demon hands.  She died; or rather we thought she died, buying us some time.  When the paramedics found her, her vessel matched a missing person's report, and the FBI and the journalists took it from there.  She's still a demon."

"And she was still a woman," James lowered his voice, "kidnapped and tortured for over a year by your own admission.  And then she sacrificed herself saving your ass.  That doesn't change either.  I read her medical file, you know.  So what happened?  Where is she?"

"They're in Columbia.  Dean took her for healing, and she wants to come back to St. Louis.  But the motel is a crime scene now, and there was a witness that can place both of them there.  Any ideas?"

"Yeah.  Talk first, shoot later.  But what about your FBI cover?  Or your hacker friend, you know the red head?  I’m from another precinct anyway, what do you think I can do?”

Sam ran his hand through his hair, _again._ “I don’t _know._   Let me think…Where are we on the Lemp case?”

James pulled out his note pad, flipping through the pages.  “We’ve got two chainsaw actors hung themselves in a locked room and a ghoul and brewery ghost slit their wrists in bathtubs.”  It was still so odd how the actors for a haunted house and haunted dinner theatre kept ending up dead.  “And that’s just in the last six months.  I have at least a dozen more listed from over the years.  All bodies were found in locked rooms, but none were found with notes and there was no history of depression for any of them.”  He trailed off.  “Sam.”

“What?”

“Let’s go to your crime scene at the motel.  That’s new.  That’s a case we can do something about _right now_.  These cold cases can wait.  Let’s bring Elizabeth Masters home.”  James finished up his coffee and dropped his plate from his club into the can on the way out the door.

James flashed his CESL badge at the door, but when Sam flipped open his FBI badge holder, the people at the motel paid attention.  Immediately, they ducked beneath the yellow crime scene tape and walked up to an Affton officer.  James shrugged in Sam’s direction, “I’m Officer Nash from CESL and this is Agent Young from the FBI.  We’re here about the Elizabeth Masters case.”  The officer immediately referred them to the on-scene coroner.

The medical examiner was still swabbing the blood from the wall behind the bed.  James looked over, seeing the pensive look on Sam’s face.  “Excuse me, doctor…?”

“Hunt.”  She didn’t even look up from her work.

“Dr. Hunt.  I’m Agent Young from the FBI; this is Officer Nash from the east side PD.  We’re here about the Masters case.”

“Yeah.  What do you need?”  The woman looked to be in her early thirties, her mouse brown hair pulled back into a messy pony tail.  Dr. Hunt didn’t stop working.  She slipped her blood swabs in to some evidence tubes, pulled out a blacklight, and gestured to some techies to switch off the light.  The doc waved the blacklight wand over the room, and the place lit up like a rave.  “I fuckin’ hate motel rooms.  Cesspools of body fluids.”

James cringed as he watched how much of the room began to glow with splatters and gobs of fluids from who knows what.  He’d seen some creepy stuff over the years dabbling in witchcraft, but he was glad more than ever that he’d never worked in forensics or vice. _That’s_ where stuff was really fucked up.

“Excuse me doctor, but I’m afraid this case is already closed.”  Sam interrupted the coroner and tried to interpose himself between her and another patch of blood on the nightstand.  “We already have the victim and the alleged assailant in custody.”

“Already closed?  You may have the suspect in custody, but you’ll still need my evidence for conviction.”

“Ma’am, you don’t understand.  This is out of your jurisdiction, and we’re taking over the case.  Here.”  Sam passed over some documents Charlie had just emailed him.  She’d somehow manufactured federal paperwork passing the casework to the FBI.  The contacts listed would just feed through to Kevin Solo or Christine Clarke.  On the way to the motel, Sam explained to him that those were aliases for Kevin Tran and Charlie Bradbury, who both helped the Winchesters on many of their cases.

Dr. Hunt grabbed the sheaf of papers from Sam’s hand, scanned it quickly, and thrust them back into his chest.  She pounded her finger right in the middle of the writ, and James saw Sam flinch from her.  “I don’t have to like this.  The witness was pretty clear that the woman was in danger.  I need to know from my captain that this is kosher.”

James decided to step in.  “Dr. Hunt,” he motioned for her to follow him to a corner of the room, “do you remember the Elizabeth Morgan case that broke last year?”

 “Yeah.  It was pretty gruesome stuff.”  Her eyes narrowed.  “Are you saying these are related?”

“I’m saying, off the record of course, that this was Ms. Morgan here tonight.  She helped us get the last of them.  I know SLPD was briefed the same time that CESL was, and you know she has a new name and a new life.”  James waited for her nod.  He was right.  All the law enforcement in the bi-state area was well aware of the case.  “Well, the bureau wants to keep this quiet so that we can preserve Ms. Morgan’s privacy.  She’s been through enough.  The feds just want all the samples you and your team have to be sent to the lab listed in that paperwork.  This guy is gonna be prosecuted on the federal level.”

“Good.”  He saw her eyes glint.

“Good?”  James was taken aback with how well the doc was doing with letting go of jurisdiction.

“Yeah.  The feds don’t play around with rape cases like they do on the state level.”  She went on to explain.  “Remember, Missouri is famous for Todd ‘Legitimate Rape’ Akin.  I’d rather the bureau take this case on than our local guys.  I’ll send all we have to your lab; you can count on me and my team.”

In moments, they had the crime scene cleared, and it was just Sam and James left in the room.  “How do you guys do it?”  James had to ask.

“Do what?”  Sam pulled out his phone, mumbling to himself as he apparently couldn’t remember which phone Dean was currently using.

“Mix the legal and supernatural aspects of hunting?  I mean, a legitimate crime was committed.  There’s DNA and fingerprints and other trace evidence that links your demons to the crimes they committed against your friend Meg.”

“I wouldn’t really call Meg our friend.”

“Anyway.  Those were actual crimes.  Instead of letting the cops catch and prosecute them, you’re, what, tracking demons?”  James used magic as a witch now.  But he used it to help him find clues and track criminals.  He still went through the proper channels to put the bad guys away, though.

“What would that help?  Some guy would go to jail, and then the demon would just go possess someone else.  That would just leave an innocent person behind bars.  I don’t call that justice.  What my brother and I do ensures that the responsible party pays for what they’ve done.  We can’t trust that to the court system.  Too many innocents would suffer.”  Sam finally found the number he was looking for, and called his brother.  “Hey.  It’s done.  Meg can come back here if she wants, and the cops aren’t looking for you anymore.  Are you going to make it back in time?  Uh hunh.  Okay.”

“Well?”  James was anxious to get started on their suicide cold cases.

“Looks like we’re a party of four.  Meg agreed to help us find what’s causing all these suicides.”

“Huh.  I’ve never met a demon before.”  James was slightly worried though.  A demon and maybe some ghosts, if the stories were true, deep in the catacombs beneath the Lemp Brewery.  “I’m sure Portia would love to meet her.”

Sam laughed.  “I think they’d get along great.”

 

* * *

 

When the Impala pulled into the lot, Meg saw Sam and another man waiting in the shadows next to the loading dock.  This part of town was filled with a lot of old brick factories, and the old brewery complex was no exception.  Dean cut the engine and idled into a spot near one of the old bay doors.  She wiped the condensation from the right side of her face, unbuckled, and climbed from the car. 

“Hello, Sam.  Who’s your sidekick?  He reeks of incense and dog treats.”  Meg could always spot a witch.  It just so happened this one was a man.

“Ms. Morgan, or Ms. Masters, whichever you prefer.  I’m sorry we had to meet under these circumstances.  I’m Officer Frampton.”  The dark haired man stepped forward, holding out a hand.  He had dark brown hair and eyes so dark, it looked like they were black.

“Frampton?  You have got to be kidding me.”  Meg just looked at his outstretched hand and snorted.  She shoved her hands into her pockets and sauntered over to Moose.  “Be honest with me Sam.  Did Harry Potter bring Hedwig with him?  We could use her in there, if what you say is true.”

“Harry Potter?  What?  You mean James.”

A Doberman Pinscher trotted up behind James at that point, sporting a studded collar.  Meg smiled.  “There she is.  Now we have a team.”

The three men turned to the Doberman, just missing her metamorphosis into her human form.  When Portia changed into a woman, she kept on the dog collar.  Her black leather pants were worn, and slightly loose, completely melding around her long legs.  She wore fat toed motorcycle boots the color of oxblood and a sport tank.  As Portia settled into her humanity, she reached up, tying her black braids back with a scrunchy into a pony tail.

“Lookin’ good.  I like a woman in a pony tail.  That’s how you know she’s about to take care of business.”  Meg definitely liked her style, and, unbeknownst to the boys, she could see the witch’s familiar had several knives placed around her person.  _Yes.  Portia is all manner of ass kicking wrapped in a hot package._

Portia gave Meg an assessing look as well.  “Honey, you smell like a dog that rolled around in something dead and then jumped in a fire pit.”

“That’s my natural scent.  I call it Eau de Hellhound.”  The two women smiled, having taken each other’s measure, and then turned to the three men shuffling their feet on the broken asphalt of the parking lot.  “Alright, let’s do this.  Is it wrong that I’m excited to climb down in the old brewery tunnels?  I can still smell the stale yeast, even after 90 years.”

“You can smell the beer.”  Dean sort of had an envious look on his face, but began sniffing the air himself.

“Yeah.  It’s making me pretty thirsty.  Let’s go.”  Meg and Portia led the way, although neither had been to the brewery complex before.

“Wait a minute.”  Dean trotted back to the trunk of their car, popping it, and grabbing some shells packed with rock salt, tossing a shotgun to Sam and grabbing one for himself.  Meg saw him pocket an EMF meter as well as slide Ruby’s knife, the demon killing knife, into a sheath at his waist.

She wasn’t really concerned.  As a demon, she would be able to sense any spirits long before they threatened her, and she knew Portia could as well even if she were not in her dog form.  She was done waiting, and slipped through a door still chained and padlocked.

The first floor of the old warehouse was boarded up and none of the street lights shone in through the windows.  The Sam immediately pulled out a small mag light, holding it just like they do in the tv cop shows.  Meg couldn’t help but begin to laugh, shaking her head.  When the group turned to her in confusion, she reached over, toggling the switches on the wall near the entryway.  Bay after bay of fluorescent lights flickered to life above them.  A hallway and intersecting corridors shone in various states of decay.

“What are you doing?”  The question was plain on Sam’s face.

Meg was ready with a snappy comment, but Portia answered for her.  “It’s a commercial haunted house.  It’s wired.  Why wouldn’t we just turn on the lights?”

“Well, I just thought this was an abandoned building and defunct brewery…”  Sam trailed off as Portia and James began laughing.

“We’ve been coming here for years.  The owners have the whole complex light and soundproofed.  Some buildings are rented out as warehouse space to other companies, but most of the income comes from The Darkness and the dinner theatre.  During the haunted house season, it can get pretty noisy here just like a rave, and they try to keep the residential neighborhood next door in their good graces.  And besides,” James continued, pulling some paperwork from beneath his jacket, “we have permission to be here.  I _am_ law enforcement, after all.”

The Winchesters exchanged a look.  “It just doesn’t feel the same.”  Dean grimaced, looking around the brightly lit rooms, clearly set-dressed to look scary with store bought spider webs and fake blood.  Slowly, he and his brother holstered their guns and stopped standing in their “Die Hard” stances. 

“Alright, now that that’s settled…So from what I was told on the way here is that you have a history of mysterious suicides, none of them onsite, but they are all former employees of either the dinner theatre at the mansion or the brewery complex haunted house, is that right?”  She just liked to review her facts before getting started.  “And you suspect something supernatural, of course.”

“Yes.  I already tried summoning spirits at all of the crime scenes, but there were no apparitions or residuals,” explained James.  He began leading them further along the corridor towards an old stairwell leading down. 

Dean pulled out his EMF, and started sweeping it towards all the rooms as they passed each open door and Sam pulled out a little flip note pad.  “So there are four members of the original family that committed suicide, two in the mansion, one in the brewery offices, and one at another off site house-all gunshot wounds,”  Sam read while they descended the spiral staircase.  “Also, one of those guys shot his dog when he killed himself.  Who does that?”

At that, a low growl emanated from Portia’s throat.  “An asshole, that’s who.”  She was the first to hit the landing beneath them, and immediately swung her head back and forth, scenting the air.  “Let’s split up into two teams.”

Again, the Winchesters pulled up short, not used to having someone else call the shots.  But Portia didn’t care, and James let her run point.  She split them into two groups, James with Meg and Portia with the brothers.

“You really want to split up?” asked Sam.  “I mean, I thought you were his familiar and all that.” 

“I am.  That’s why we should slit up.  James and I can communicate even while split up, and Meg and I can both sense spirits.”  Portia rolled her eyes at the hunters while explaining what they should already know.

Meg ranged ahead of James as they wound their way through the southern corridors of the old brewery tunnels.  Some rooms and halls had old tracks laid in the floor for transport cars.  The lower floors of the old building were not used for the haunted house, as it wouldn’t pass fire code evacuation purposes.  All of the fake, haunted set dressing was limited to the upstairs.  But these rooms looked just as dilapidated.  James chattered away in Meg’s ear as they peaked in each of the old chambers. 

About forty five minutes into their exploration, he tapped her on her shoulder.  “They found something-or someone.  Portia says the Winchesters have just dissipated the ghost each time.”

“That’s stupid.  How are they supposed to learn anything about these deaths if they kill the ghost before having a conversation?”

When they caught up to them, Portia had shape-changed back into her animal form, teeth out and hackles raised.  Sam and Dean faced in opposite directions in the hallway back to back, each carrying an iron pipe.  Sam carried his like a ball bat and Dean held his like a golf club.  Meg felt her spidey sense tingle, and a moment later, Portia began to growl lightly.  The ghost began to coalesce with amber wisps.  As the men began their swings, Meg stepped in between them, grabbing their pipes in each hand.

“Stop.”  Meg stood there in the hall, arms upraised, using her unnatural strength to hold their iron at bay.  The Winchesters stared at her in amazement and then watched openmouthed as the spirit continued to form.  She held back a snicker as she realized the ghost was the color of beer.  The man was heavy set with a thick bushy moustache and goatee.  He sort of looked like a daguerreotype.  Both hunters finally lowered their pipes.

James let out a low whistle.  “That’s Lemp Sr., the founder.”

The ghost began speaking to them, but no sound came forth.  He began to yell and wave his arms about.  James, Sam, and Dean shuffled their feet and seemed unsure of how to proceed.

“Hey boys, I know you don’t trust me.  But trust me, okay?”  She turned back to the beer ghost, caught his eye, held out her hands, and gave a little head nod.  Lemp appeared to calm down, and he lowered his arms, hands fisting at his side.  After a moment, he nodded in return.

Meg stepped forward into Lemp’s spirit.

“What?” Dean stepped forward, un-holstering his gun with the rock salt shells.  He brought up the weapon and trained it on Meg.

Meg faced their little Scooby gang.  All three men were alert, and smelled slightly of anxiety.  Portia in her dog form sat on her haunches, tongue lolling out and completely relaxed.  James reached a hand down and rested it on Portia’s head, and visibly relaxed as though her mood seeped into him.

“You need to help them.”  Meg’s voice came out in split tones, an echo of the man’s voice paired with her own.  “He’s killing them.”

“Who’s killing them?”  Sam asked.  “Another ghost?”

“No.  One of your own.”  Lemp croaked the words out from her mouth with some difficulty.

“A hunter?”  The confusion was plain on Dean’s face.

“No.”

And just like that, Lemp left Meg’s body.  She felt his soul leave her, and she stared emptily for a moment in the after effects.

“Lemp?” Sam asked.  They didn’t know the ghost was gone.

“He’s gone.  It’s just me.  The deaths aren’t the work of a spirit.  Lemp wants you to stop who’s responsible.”  Meg shook herself, as though she could shake free the last vestiges of the feeling of sharing her bone bag with another.

James put a hand to her shoulder, peering into her face.  “Murders?  I was right.”

“No, not murders.  Cyber-bullying.  One of The Darkness employees is a bully, stalking and psychologically torturing current and former employees.”  Meg brushed his hand off of her.  She never really liked being touched.  “The suicides are legit, but they were pushed to it.”

“Damn,” James swore under his breath.  “I’ll contact SLPD and get their electronics forensics team on it.  There must be email or texts that they can trace back to the source.”  He had already pulled out his notepad, and was scribbling some notes down about the case.

Sam and Dean began looking around the decayed corridor.  The halls here were carved stone.  The brewery had been built atop a natural cave system, and the Lemps had incorporated the caverns into their foundation, carving connecting hallways directly from the limestone and granite bedrock.

“So…no ganking?  That’s it?” Dean put his gun back in his holster, pulling a different flask from his pocket and taking a sip.  Meg could smell the whiskey on his breath.  The holy water flask was nestled in his other jacket pocket.

“Don’t be so disappointed, Stabby McStabbers,” quipped Meg.  “Not every ‘case’ of yours needs to end up in beheadings, gunshots, or exorcisms.” 

“Well, we can at least put this guy to rest.  Do you know where his remains are so we can burn them?” Dean asked.

“I can’t tell you that.”

“You mean you don’t know.”  His eyes narrowed at her.

“No.  I, as a moral choice, have decided that is something I can’t tell you.  Lemp isn’t killing anyone.  He still thinks he’s taking care of his brewery and his employees.  He’s watching out for them.  This is his peace.  You can’t take that away from him.”  Meg was beginning to feel heated.  “He was _inside_ me.  I know where his heart is.”

“What do you care?” Sam wanted to know.  “You’re a demon.”

“Well, yeah.  But demons are dead people.  And who knows more about suffering and wanting spiritual peace than a ghost condemned to the pits of Hell?” she explained.  “It’s my call, this is my town now, and I’m saying you’re leaving this one alone.”

“I second that,” James chimed in.

To his side, Portia changed back into her form, black fur and brown point markings morphing into glossy black hair and chocolate skin.  “Same.  Leave this to the St. Louisans.  Lemp isn’t hurting anyone.  His is a spirit at peace as long as no one hurts his brewery and its employees.”

As one, the group turned back towards the hall with the spiral staircase, climbing the treads in silence.  Meg watched Portia as she ascended above her.  She figured it must be easier for the familiar to use stairs in her human form.  But she was still confused about how the woman was able to shapechange and keep her clothes and accessories between each morphing.  _Magic._

One they were back in the parking lot, the men and Portia shuffled around, just looking at each other.

“So, ugh, you’re staying here then?” Sam wanted to know.

“Yes.  I’m done with this.  I’m done with demons and angels and monsters.  It’s not good for my life expectancy.”  She was tired of explaining herself and putting off the Winchesters.

“Then why did you help down there?  Why did you agree to come on this case?”  The moose wouldn’t leave it alone.

“ _Because_ ,” Meg huffed, “I have to _live_ here.  If other hunters come to town to investigate something, I don’t want any of them getting a whiff of a demon around and tracking me down.  This was in my best interests to get this solved and have you guys leave.”

She watched them.  Dean and Sam, walking towards the Impala.  James and Portia walking towards their car.  Meg stayed standing under the glow of the light over the warehouse loading dock. 

“Hey!”  Her call got their attention, and the four turned as one.  Meg didn’t really feel like walking home to her apartment.  It had been a long 48 hours.  “I live just a couple of blocks away.  What say we all go back to my apartment, play some UNO, and get shit faced?”

“Hells, yes!”  said Portia with a smile.

Meg looked at the woman, and she felt a smile split her face in return.  Maybe it was time for her to live again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I picked St. Louis as my new hometown for Meg because the series has actually spent quite a bit of time here. The Winchesters worked a skinwalker case here in season 1, the Leviathan dopplegangers murdered a bunch of people in St. Louis in season 7, and the Winchesters went to St. Louis twice in season 8. This is where James and Portia live, and this is also where they learned about the demon cure from a St. Louis priest. Perhaps this references the [famous exorcism](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Exorcism_of_Roland_Doe) that took place in St. Louis, which was the basis for the film The Exorcist.
> 
> The Lemp Mansion and Brewery are real places and urban legend considers them haunted. You can visit a site about its history [here](http://www.lempmansion.com/history.htm).


	8. McComb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The McComb police department faces a supernatural case that reveals a dark past in their city. Families are dying with no sign of entry, no sign of weapons, and no sign of motive. Rookie cop Jo Harvelle discovers the link but is ill equipped to deal with the culprit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Case fic.

Jo circled the trailer one more time with the forensics team. There just weren’t any new prints outside suggesting, well, anything. They couldn’t find the weapon, they couldn’t find the point of entry, they couldn’t find fingerprints, footprints, trace DNA, or even a void in the blood spatter to indicate where the shooter had stood. This was the third set of murders this week and the department was getting pressure from the state to do something, anything, to catch the killer or killers and to ease the minds of the McComb public.

But you can’t catch a killer without any clues.

The officers on site were given the go ahead and Jo walked back to the patrol car. Well, it was really just an old GMC pickup painted with the department colors, but it didn’t make sense to drive a bunch of sedans in rural Mississippi. Daisy waited in the passenger seat with a clear view of the site eager to look it all over.

“Come on,” Jo said, opening the door. “Chief says you and I have the place to ourselves. The medical examiner is leaving with the Lees’ bodies as we speak.”

It had been a difficult scene to handle. Jo never really could stomach the cases that had children, much less murdered children. With last night’s shift, Jo had been on call as a first responder, and had been the first officer on site after the neighbors called in the tip. Sadly, it hadn’t been the sound of gunfire from a few nights back that had concerned them but the odor that finally caused them to be worried. If the Lees had lived in a regular house instead of a trailer, if they had lived on acreage instead of in a mobile home park, the discovery would have been a long time coming.

Daisy trotted straight up to the front door, and the deputy held the door open for her. “Daisy, lookin’ good.” Al, Deputy Sheriff, reached a hand down and ran it Daisy’s back as she walked through the door.

Everyone in McComb liked Jo’s dogs, and they were quickly becoming useful for more than the boar population in southern Mississippi. Six months after graduating police academy, Jo had begun volunteering them for corpse searches. After that, Daisy, and her other Great Dane Duke, were brought for fugitive searches. They’d both proven time and again that they could out track German Shepards, Blood Hounds, and Bassets. Her captain now allowed Jo to bring one along on patrols each day, just in case. The best thing, was, that it didn’t cost the department the normal expense of having a K-9 unit.

“Hey Al. Let’s hope Daisy finds something the rest of us couldn’t.” As Jo walked past him, the deputy tried to run his hand down her back, too. “Watch it.” Jo’s warning was accompanied by a low growl from Daisy’s throat. It was always like this. Although the department valued her results- and especially her dogs now- she still had to deal with a ton of crap as the only woman officer on staff.

Once Daisy entered the living room, she stood stock still, hackles rising. She gave a few perfunctory smells and then slowly moved over to some dark stains near the television. The large blue-grey dog lay down, setting her chin on her front paws, and gave a low whine. Jo grimaced. Daisy was laying in the exact spot the children had been shot.

“It’s like magic, or something,” Al said almost in her ear.

“Yeah. Magic or something.” Jo didn’t really have anything else to say on the subject. “Here, I know we’re waiting for forensics to get back with us on this, but did you notice the splatter patterns? There are five voids for each of the five victims, but not a sixth.”

“Yeah, the medical examiner mentioned it,” he said. “We don’t know yet where the shooter stood.”

“No. That’s not what I mean. I mean, there are five voids. The first to be shot and killed would have hit the floor. So when the last one was killed, there should be two voids, one for the victim and one for the shooter-everyone else would have been out of the splatter zone.” Jo really hated that term.

“What are you getting at?”

“Everyone died at the same time, is what I’m saying. Everyone was still standing and they were all shot simultaneously. You wait and see. Ask forensics when you get back to the station.” Jo waited for him to leave and then turned to Daisy still whimpering quietly on the floor. “Daisy. Come. Find the shooter for me.”

The dog stood up from the floor, cocked her ears, gave her a quizzical look, and then walked to the coffee table, nudging it with her nose. There was just some junk mail thrown in a pile. Jo leaned over, pulled her penlight from her pocket, and nudged some of the envelopes around. There was an unopened money mailer, a bill for satellite TV, a postcard for the water bill, two voter cards for the next election, and a solicitation for donations for the ASPCA. Daisy growled at the mail, lifting her tail a bit to emphasize the importance.

“If you say so,” Jo said skeptically. She pulled out her phone and snapped quick photos of the mail on the table.

At the station, Jo requested the files on the other two open cases. One was for the murder of an elderly woman by the name of Travis, and the other was for the Moses family. The only thing Jo could see they had in common was that they all were black. She’d only lived in McComb for a year, and didn’t really feel she knew the families well enough to make any conclusions.

Jo walked over to some of the other officers, the black officers, and set the three files down on a nearby desk. “Guys.”

“Jo.” Curtis was the officer with most tenure at the department. He was 6’3”, 250 lbs., and a total badass at the firing range.

“I don’t want to step on any toes. But I can’t help but think these three are connected in more ways than a similar cause of death and a lack of evidence.”

“You mean because they’re all black folk?” Curtis rolled his eyes. “So you came to me?”

“Please.” She tried to be as tactful as possible. “I came to you because I need help and you have the most experience in the department. Yes, all the victims are black, yes they’re connected because of the similar lack of evidence and causes of death, but there’s something more and I can’t put my finger on it. Do you know anything about the Lee, Travis, and Moses families? I honestly don’t want to start anything, but I also have this hunch they’re all important. I haven’t lived in McComb long enough to know what’s up.”

“Moses, Lee, and Travis. I have a contact. One sec.” Curtis pulled his cell from his pocket and quick-dialed someone. “Hey Ma. Yeah, we’re coming to dinner tonight. Yes. I’m bringing the strawberry jello. Yes. Yes. Un huh. Ma… Ma… I need to ask you something. Do the last names of Moses, Lee, and Travis mean anything to you? You’re kidding. Really? Okay. No, their names were just mentioned at the precinct, and it tickled my memory. No. Really, thanks for your help. Charlene will be coming late. She works the 7-7 shift tonight. Okay Ma. I’ll see you tonight. Love you too, bye.

“Blondie, you just might be on to something. The three families have more in common than their skin color. They were all a part of McComb’s Civil Rights movement in the early sixties. They each had relatives in ’61 that were beaten, jailed, or murdered as a result of wanting voting and education rights. My mother was part of a sit-in at a school that ended up with Brenda Travis jailed for a year. The Lee’s had a relative murdered by a state rep in front of a dozen witnesses, and the Moses family is related to Bob Moses who was helping blacks register to vote. He was beaten in the street by an in-law of the same state rep who murdered Lee.”

“Why would someone be targeting descendents of civil rights leaders?” Jo just didn’t understand.

“Listen, baby. You’re not from McComb. You’re not from Mississippi. You’re not from the South. I don’t think you’ll be able to get a handle on this one. No offense or anything, but you’re new in town and you just don’t understand this culture.” He patted her hand and took the three files. “But you did find a link, and for that, I thank you.” The other officers standing with Curtis gave her a nod of recognition.

“Yeah, well. I’ll still keep looking, if it’s all the same. If there are more family members out there, they may be targets, too.” She pushed her hair back behind her ear.

“Andre and I will drive by and have a talk with all of them. Until you find a weapon or have a suspect, I’m afraid there’s not much we can do to put someone away.” Curtis turned around at that point, and Jo knew they were done.

The next two weeks were filled with sifting through the evidence locker. Jo was up to her eyeballs with junk mail, crime scene photos, M.E reports, and more tedium than two pots of coffee could handle. The case just kept getting stranger and stranger. In addition to no weapons recovered, the coroner didn’t find any bullets from the wounds. The coroner, in her report, listed cause of death for the victims from multiple gunshot wounds. It was as if the bullets disappeared after entering the victims. Jo even began thinking of bullets made of ice or meat, as though she was in the middle of an episode of Castle.

Thankfully, Curtis and his crew believed her, and began looking after the other surviving relatives, and the IT team had uncovered some email harassment pointing towards a descendant of the man that shot voting rights activist Herbert Lee. So they may not have a weapon yet, but at least she and Curtis had an idea of where to start.

At home, Jo tossed her truck keys on the counter. Duke was waiting at the door, and Daisy swung her blocky head into his neck by way of greeting. She ruffled both of their ears and went to refill their water bowls.

“I heard you’re hunting again.”

Jo dropped the bowl on the ground, water sloshing over her work boots. Spinning, she saw her worst nightmare lounging at the kitchen table.

“Meg.”

“That was our deal. No more hunting.” The woman leaned back in the chair, bringing a beer to her lips. She crossed one ankle over her knee, taking another drink. Jo saw two more empties setting on the table.

Her hands shook as she bent down to pick up the bowl, stainless steel now dented from the fall. “I’m hunting a murderer, not a ghost or demon. I’m a cop. What do you expect me to do?”

The woman shrugged. “Be a cop. It’s a good job. Hot uniforms, handcuffs, punching perps, donuts, sweet firearms, respect from the community, killing jerks and saving babies, power. But this isn’t a regular bad guy. Leave the supernatural stuff to the professionals. Your mother would track me down if I had to go back on my deal because you started hunting again.” The demon put out her hand, and immediately the two Great Danes trotted to her side, jostling her for attention.

“I _am_ being a cop. What do you expect me to do if supernatural shit goes down in my city? I can’t hunt; I can’t call other hunters; I can’t call the Winchesters. How am I supposed to take care of this if it’s not a criminal I can put in handcuffs? I need to protect my town and my people.”

“Good. Give me a map.” Meg tipped her bottle back again, then clinked the glass down hollowly on the table top.

Jo rummaged around in her kitchen junk drawer, pulling forth a 2012 street guide to McComb. The yellowed pages crinkled with coffee stains and dog-eared pages and Meg swiped the spiral bound map book from her hands. She saw the demon’s eyes flicker to black as she raised the street guide above the table. The other woman murmured under her breath and she dropped the book onto the table top. As the book landed, pages splayed open, Meg set a pale hand on the open map, murmuring further.

Jo set about making a pot of coffee, hands shaking still from being confronted by the demon responsible for her death. Sure, her mom had called her a few years back and let her know about her interactions with their personal demon, but it didn’t make this confrontation any easier.

“Done.” Meg’s words startled her from her memories.

“Done? It’s done? You found the name of the killer from an old, stained street guide?”

Meg just smirked at her, and pointed a finger at her empty bottle. “Actually, I peeked at some of your post-it’s earlier while I was waiting for you to come home. I stole the name of your suspect from your own research.”

She groaned and reached in the fridge, pulling another lager from the top rack and passing it over. “We don’t even know if we’re on the right track! Curtis and I have been beating our heads against all the available evidence.”

“No. You’re both right about this jackass. You have tons of evidence that shows he was targeting these families and others.”

“How do you know? We don’t even have a _weapon,_ ” Jo asked.

“Because this asshole summoned a ghost-one of his racist-as-fuck ancestors-to kill off the descendants of those civil rights activists.” Meg pried off the cap of the bottle and sucked down yet another swallow of beer. “You’re not going to find a weapon.”

“Why? Why would he do something like this? I just don’t understand people.”

“Jo-Jo, in your years as a hunter and your time as a cop, haven’t you realized that people are worse than the monster under the bed?”

“I can’t put him away without putting him physically there with a smoking gun in his hand. I can’t do this as a cop; I need to be a hunter on this one.” Jo wrapped her hands around her mug, letting the warmth heat her fingers.

“No. You can’t do this as a cop. But you’re not going to do this as a hunter, either. I’ll do it as a demon.” She set down her beer, stood up, and stretched. “But I’m tired, so I think I’ll do it tomorrow. I’ll take the bedroom; you get the sofa…unless you want to join me?”

Jo spit out her coffee as she realized what Meg had just proposed. “No, um, the couch is fine. It’s fine.” She dumped the dregs of her coffee down the sink and pushed her hair back behind her ear. She moved towards the bedroom to grab a pillow and a blanket for herself. The dogs raced down the hall, beating her to the bedroom, and jumped up on the bed. Daisy’s tail thumped loudly on the mattress while Duke immediately rolled to his side, pushing the covers almost all the way off with his giant paws. “Come on, get down! _Down_.”

“No, no. It’s fine. I’m used to lying with dogs.” The demon pulled open one of her drawers, pawing through Jo’s t-shirts. “Sweet. The wolf t-shirt.”

Jo lay awake all night, nervous having a demon beneath her roof, no matter what her mother told her about Meg. So when the front door creaked open and shut, she heard it, slipping quickly out from beneath the blanket and tailing the other woman in the night.

She texted Curtis when she saw Meg slip into someone’s trailer in Meadowgreen Acres. She had come to rely on him over the past weeks and the two had become impromptu partners. Jo often had dinner with him and his wife, the two of them peering over the case files and ice cream late into the night. He dropped into the passenger seat of her truck not five minutes later, having parked around the corner himself.

“What are we looking at here?”

He didn’t question the midnight text or why they were sitting outside a pitch black mobile home.

“My friend is inside. She said we’re right about him. He is targeting the descendants of those people.” Jo rushed through her next statement. “But not in the way you think. He’s using a ghost to kill people. Ghosts are real, by the way. I know how it sounds, but it’s true. And now she’s inside and I think she’s probably going to kill him.”

“Ghosts?” The man just looked at her long and hard. Curtis had been a cop longer than she’d been alive. He still had both parents, a wife, children. Respect in the community. “That explains the crime scenes.”

And it was that easy. This is what it meant to have a partner, as unlikely a pair they made. They had trust.

They entered through the front door of the doublewide, finding it ajar. Jo held her wrists crossed, left hand holding a Maglight to shine the way, right hand on her gun. They cleared the first two rooms, but a noise alerted them to the back bedroom. She shook her head at Curtis, and then they proceeded in silence. She nudged the door open with the toe of her boot.

The homeowner, Billy, was standing awkwardly against the opposite wall. His eyes were wide with fear, and his doughy frame slumped, but still stood upright. She could see beads of sweat rolling down his balding pate, dripping into his eyes. Since he didn’t move to wipe the sweat from his eyes, Jo figured he was being held upright against his will by some invisible force.

“Took you long enough.” Meg was sprawled in a chair to the left of the doorway. “I thought I’d have to get started without you.”

“Meg,” she hissed, “You can’t just kill him! He needs to be arrested for the murders. We have to do this right. McComb can’t have any more unsolved deaths.”

“Oh, don’t worry. You’ll have your collar.” The demon waved her hand, and another man materialized in the room. Jo had seen this type of thing before and didn’t flinch when the ghost appeared. Curtis on the other hand…

“Aw, hell no!”

But Jo had to give him credit, he didn’t run.

What did surprise Jo was that the ghost that materialized was a black man. She whipped her eyes to the woman in the arm chair. “What is this? I thought you said he was using some racist dickbag of an ancestor to do these murders?”

“He was. This is his first victim. Meet Herbert Lee.”

And now she understood. Billy’s eyes widened even further in fright. He began to visibly shake, and the convulsions slammed him against the cheap paneling behind him.

She heart Curtis praying under his breath next to her. He was doing rather well, considering this was his first encounter with an apparition. “I told you, we can’t have any more unsolved murders.”

“And you won’t. Trust me.” Meg pursed her lips in what looked like a smile and leaned forward in her chair.

The ghost of Herbert Lee: voting rights activist, civil rights activist, father, grandfather, murder victim. Lee seemed to walk forward into Billy’s body, and the man began to scream in agony. As Jo and Curtis watched, Billy seemed to, well, to glow in reverse. He was surrounded by a dark halo that pulled the light from all corners of the room and swallowed it up like a black hole. Just when she thought the world had gone dark, and the pressure in the room might crush her lungs, Jo’s reality snapped back to normal. Looking at the murderer slumped against the wall, she saw the ether of Herbert Lee’s spirit disperse, the wisps floating up and away from the man’s shoulders.

The demon snapped her fingers, and Billy fell to his knees sobbing. In between loud moans of grief, the man gasped futilely for air. She holstered her gun, finally realizing she’d held it trained on the man the whole time. To her right, she saw her partner do the same. Meg, though. Meg casually uncrossed her ankle from atop her knee and got to her feet, staring down at the crying man with, well, what Jo could only call _glee_.

“He’s all yours, officers.” And with that, the demon turned on her heel and left the trailer.

It took a few days to get all the paperwork in order, but Billy’s full written and videotaped confession went a long way to settling things-even with the absence of the murder weapon and shell casings. Meg confessed to exorcising the ghost Billy had used to murder those families. Jo had to admit, this was much cleaner than being a hunter. The folks in town had their closure, the bad guy was behind bars, and she didn’t have to actually do anything beyond classic police work.

The captain even officially placed Curtis as her mentor in the department, and no one thought twice anymore about the little blonde girl and the big older black man as partners. She continued to have dinners with Curtis and his wife every week, and Meg left her Hellhounds behind when she left.

So Jo wasn’t expecting anything out of the ordinary when two F.B.I. agents walked into the precinct asking to speak with her.

The redhead in the awful powersuit walked up, hand outstretched. “Hi. I’m Agent Carrie Heinlein, this is my partner Kevin Solo.” The petite woman flashed her badge and nodded over her shoulder at a young Asian man standing back at her captain’s desk.

Once they were alone in the debriefing room, Agent Heinlein passed over an envelope. “Jo Harvelle.” She was startled to hear her last name. She hadn’t used it for years, not since she came back from the dead and her mom Ellen had helped to fake both their deaths. "Our contact referred us to you as a possible recruit for the agency. You and your partner, if he’s interested as well. We’re looking to create a support network in numerous departments across this district. You wouldn’t necessarily need to travel. You’ll find more information enclosed.”

Jo hastily ripped open the envelope, then looked back up at the two agents. 

An orange Post-It note was stuck to the form letter within.

_Jo-_

_You’re a good cop. You’re a better cop than you ever were as a hunter. But I think you’ve been dead long enough, and I know what it's like to have to hide. I think it’s time you live again. The choice is yours, if you want to help in any capacity. Anything from calling in tips to actually working cases.  Who am I to take away your free will?  
_

_PS-I stored Dean’s phone number in your contacts list on your crappy flip phone, seriously you need to upgrade that shit  
_

_PPS-Stay out of trouble. Your mother would kill me if I have to bring you back from the dead again_

Meg had signed it with a skull and crossbones. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out [this article](http://www.crmvet.org/tim/timhis61.htm#1961mccomb) to learn more about the civil rights movement in McComb.


	9. Cheboygan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bodies are washing up on the shore of Lake Huron and Charlie and Cas must stop the culprit before any more people are killed. Their search leads them to Cheboygan where they meet an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Case fic. Also, I wanted to remind everyone that is AU has nothing to do with season 9, and therefore Charlie isn't in OZ and Cas hasn't regained his angelic grace and is therefore still human.

Hot. It was too hot. She’d never pictured Michigan as being this hot. Wasn’t it supposed to be a part of the Great White North? Almost Canada? Well, this street festival was pure hell for her. _Sure_ , there were funnel cakes and turkey legs and rock candy and live music, but it was HOT. They dodged stalls brimming with folk craft like steel flowers, broomstick skirts, and watercolors. Of all times to investigate a case, this wasn’t one of them. How were they supposed to pick up a trail and track anyone down in _this._

 The fair was set up on the commons fronting Duncan Bay. Out on the water, they could see some sail boats leaving the marina and heading towards Lake Huron. In addition to the stall merchants pegged out on the trampled grass, families could be seen down by the waterfront with squalling kids and wet dogs. The unofficial dress code for the festival seemed to be shorts, sandals, and tank tops, with the fair skinned Michiganders surely frying like bacon in the Cheboygan summer sun.

When they had arrived, it had taken all of Charlie’s power to convince Castiel to change into something less conspicuous. Now, the two of them tramped along the commons with her sidekick decked out in board shorts, flip-flops, and a t-shirt they had bought from one of the tourism kiosks at the entrance to the fair. She decided to go the way of a turquoise camisole and coral colored shorts with her Princess Leia bikini underneath and her red hair knotted up in a claw. To complete her look, Charlie, hunter extraordinaire hid her face behind some oversized sunglasses. _Oh yeah_. She was looking good.

“Alright, so both bodies were found by fisherman. One was closer to Turner Park, over there by the mouth of the Cheboygan River, and the other was dredged up near the Duncan Bay Boat Club. That’s further east of where we are now.” Charlie flipped her spiral note pad shut and stopped a moment to listen to the band as they warmed up on a nearby platform. “So I say that even though we’re closer to Turner Park, we head over to the boat club first, since it’s bound to have all the employees on shift for the festival. We can check out the other body site tomorrow.”

Cas gave her a nod and then bent back to his chili cheese nachos. It seemed the ex-angel couldn’t get enough of good old American deep fried fair food.

“Cas. You’re going to regret that in about an hour.” That was something she knew from her experience with the Moondoor fairs. _God_ she missed LARPing.

“Mphmph.” Cheese dribbled down his chin, and he wiped it away with the back of his wrist. Then Cas licked his wrist clean of the cheese.

“Well. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Charlie turned her back on the classic rock cover band and headed back through the stalls to go east towards the boat club. This aisle was marked off for glass blowers and metal workers. She stopped once or twice to check out some of the stalls, but the two still made steady progress towards the marina. It was outside a stall selling garden accessories like dogs, frogs, and gates made from wrought iron that she stepped backwards into the woman wearing a sundress.

“Oh! I’m sorry, excuse me,” she mumbled. Looking up to catch the woman’s eye, she suddenly lost whatever she was going to say next. The other woman was shorter than her, petite, with long blonde hair in loose waves. She wore a pink flowered sundress with strappy sandals. Her eyes were dark, maybe hazel, and her fair skin glowed ruddy from the sun she’d taken in today. When Charlie was done checking her out, she did a double take and pulled off her shades.

_It was Meg._

“It’s okay,” said Meg, giving her a brief smile before she turned back towards the man at her side.

Quickly, she glanced around and saw Cas was still two stalls behind them staring at some stained glass mosaics. Not knowing what to do next, she reached out a hand and grabbed Meg’s arm before she could bolt.

The man with her shouted at Charlie, and tried to pry her grip from her arm. “Get off her!”

“No, don’t go. Don’t go! Please Meg, don’t go.” Charlie didn’t know what else to do. She’d heard from the Winchesters that she was back, but it was very different to see her in the flesh having only read the doctor’s reports from when she was found in Lincoln. Charlie hadn’t even heard of where she’d gone after her and Kevin had gone to recruit that former hunter in Mississippi.

At her words, Meg stopped pulling away. “No, Keith, it’s okay. I know her. It’s okay. It’s just been awhile and I didn’t recognize her.”

“Let’s talk somewhere else, shall we?” Charlie and the other man-Keith she called him-stared blankly at one another until Meg turned to walk past the perimeter of the fair and towards the water’s edge.

“Morgan, what’s going on?” Keith had a hold of Meg’s arm, and her skin was starting to purple under his finger tips.

“Yeah, Morgan. What’s going on?” Charlie pulled her sunglasses back on and did her best to stand confidently. She’d faced down Leviathan, ghosts, and fairies. She wasn’t going to let a demon intimidate her.

“…Charlie.” It took Meg a moment to say her name. After all, they’d never actually met in person. “This is Keith. We knew eachother back when I used to live in Cheboygan. You know, _before I moved to L.A.”_

“Actually, it was more than that,” interrupted Keith. “We were engaged.”

Yeah, Charlie understood. _This was Elizabeth Morgan’s fiancé before Meg took her body._

“And Keith, this is Charlie. We met in…in the hospital when she was visiting her mother.”

_Lie. But she could work with that._

“So, Charlie. What are you doing in Michigan? Summer vacation?” Meg’s eyes kept darting over Charlie’s shoulder as if she was looking for someone. Probably Sam and Dean.

“Actually, I came here for a funeral. Some people I knew were _in a boating accident_ and I thought I’d come out for the funeral. Talk to their family and friends.” Charlie could see the demon following her train of thought.

“In Cheboygan?”

“Yes.”

“How many of your friends were hurt?”

“Two.”

“Hey,” Keith interrupted, “I’m sorry about your friends. We should probably let you go so you can be with their families. You know. A street festival isn’t actually the best way to remember the dead.”

Meg’s friend was tall, blond, and build like a frat boy. His blue and white golf shirt had the collar popped, and he wore a visor and some Adidas sandals instead of a regular ball cap. _Douche._ She just wanted him to leave so she could talk to Meg.

“Hey, Charlie, you have got to try these!” Cas ran up from behind the couple straight at Charlie and stuck two globby sticks under her nose. “This one is a deep fried Twinkie and this one is a deep fried Snickers! You wonderful humans and the way you deep fry everything. This is deliic-mphph.”

“Hey Clarence!” Charlie desperately tried to get his attention before he said anything _incriminating._ “I want you to meet my friend Morgan and her friend Keith. Keith is from Cheboygan, but I met Morgan at the hospital where my mom was at.”

Castiel turned at that and almost dropped the Twinkie stick on the ground in shock. “Mphp?” He swallowed. “Meg-Morgan you said?”

Charlie watched as his eyes darted at them both, and then they narrowed where Keith had draped his hand on Meg’s shoulder. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

Keith held out his hand, but Cas just lifted both fists with the food sticks as if _oh well my hands are full_ , and didn’t shake his hand.

Relieved that they both were on board with her little subterfuge, she wracked her brain on what to do next. “You know, we were about to check out the marina before leaving. Are they still renting during the festival? Do you want to come with us?

Before Meg and her friend could answer, screams from the waterfront drew their attention. Three children, maybe about seven or eight years old? She could never tell the ages of kids. The kids were running from something that had washed up with some lake trash.

“Hold on,” said Meg, and she sprinted towards the commotion, her sunkissed hair billowing out behind her as she ran. Along the way, she lost a sandal, but that didn’t stop her.

She was right behind the demon with Cas at her side. They made a beeline for what was obviously now a water-bloated corpse. But the demon had stopped short. She was squatted down in the sand with her arms spread around the little kids.

“Keith!” Meg commanded. “You go find fair security first, and then go look for their parents.”

Meg lowered her voice. Charlie figured it was probably so that the kids wouldn’t hear what she said next.

“You two, stay with the body.”

After that, things moved quickly. She took notes on the body, Castiel kept any more onlookers from approaching the scene, and Meg made sure to keep Keith busy talking to security or the parents so that he wouldn’t catch on to their hunting activities. Charlie didn’t even need to get too close to the corpse to determine cause of death. This man had been completely flayed of his skin just like the other two. There were no readings on her pocket EMF, and definitely no scent of sulfur. So. No ghosts and no demons.

She was surprised when the demon ditched her boy toy, claiming she was going to get a ride home with the two of them. She climbed in the backseat while Castiel rode shotgun.

“Alright, now will one of you tell me what the fuck you’re doing here?” asked Meg. “It seems like I can’t turn around without bumping into another hunter these days.”

“We got word of some mysterious deaths on Lake Huron. Flayed men. No tool marks. Teeth intact, so it wasn’t the mob. No other obvious wounds…” Charlie went on to describe the evidence she’d pulled from the local PD before even coming to Cheboygan.

“We don’t have a motel yet. We just got to town today and came straight here.” She pulled out of the temporary parking and onto B Street. “Why are _you_ here? Why are you back in Elizabeth Morgan’s hometown? I thought you were staying in St. Louis. That was what Dean said when you turned him down to work at the bunker with us.”

Meg didn’t answer right away. She adjusted her skirt under her thighs and then pulled the belt over her shoulder to buckle up.

“Morgan’s aunt died and left her a house and a little money. I came up to settle the estate, because I’m legally still her, just under the name Elizabeth Masters now.”

“What does a demon need with an inheritance?” Charlie thought demons just took whatever they wanted.

“I don’t even want to get into it.” She popped open her clutch and pulled a key ring out. “Turn right on State, uh highway twenty three, and head a few miles west. We can talk more at my new place.”

The quiet in the car was getting under her skin, so she decided to make small talk. “So, uh, three flayed men. Are you sure Ramsay Snow isn’t in town?”

“Who is this man you speak of? We should go question him.” She looked over and giggled when she saw that Cas was serious.

“Seriously, would it kill you to read a book sometime? And don’t you get free HBO in all those shitty motel rooms the Winchesters make you stay in?” Meg just sighed and peered out through the window while they headed down Levering.

Meg was on to something. Sometimes Charlie wished Sam was still going out on cases, because he read the same authors she did. Dean only ever got the movie references. “I know, right? I’ve been after Hot Wings here for some time to watch a movie, any movie.”

Cas turned in the car seat to look over his shoulder at the demon sitting in the back. “Why are you blonde? I thought you said Crowley did that to you, and you wanted to stab him for it. And why are you wearing so little clothing.”

“Turn left at the next mailbox on the right.” Meg slouched back in the seat. “Morgan was blonde before she left for LA, so I adopted the look when I came back for the reading of the will.”

“That makes sense. Cute look by the way. Smokin’ hot, actually. You almost had me fooled when I stepped on your toes at the garden stall.” She made her turn at the mailbox onto a gravel road. The driveway swung away into some woods, and it was too bendy to see the house from here.

Meg carried her sandals by the straps and walked barefoot up the wooden stairs to the front porch. They followed her in to find the house still mostly prepped for vacancy, with drop cloths covering most of the furniture. In the kitchen, Charlie saw Meg had several folding files, trust documents, a quit-claim deed, and other paperwork spread out on the old table.

“We have gas, and electricity, but no phone. The water’s from the well, so drink from the tap at your own risk.” The demon tossed her sandals next to the coat rack in the hall and walked upstairs. In moments, she was back down in a pair of faded jeans and an oversized tee from some charity 5-K. She walked to the fridge, pulled out a bottle, and pried the cap off on an opener mounted to the underside of one of the cabinets.

She took a couple of drinks and rested the bottle against her stomach. “Now. What is it going to take to get the two of you out of my territory?”

“You could help us,” Cas said, breaking his silence.

“What the hell. I’ll do it. I’ll probably even get to kill something, and that would be fun.” Charlie flinched when she saw Meg wink at her, her eyes flashing inky black.

By the next morning, Charlie had found that the medical examiner had matched the three men to their dental records. She hacked their personal accounts and emails servers, but found nothing linking the three men other than going to the same high school about fifteen years ago. But that was nothing special, as there was only one high school in town.

“What were those names again? Do you have photos?” Meg leaned on the back of her chair, sending shivers down her back.

“Relax, geek. Just that something you said tickled my memories. Or rather, Morgan’s memories.” Meg shooed Charlie out the chair and began scrolling through the dossiers she had assembled.

Castiel shuffled in then, hair still mussed from sleep, in a crumpled white tee and blue and green plaid boxers. “Good morning.”

“Gah! Put some pants on Cas.” She held out a hand to cover up the sight of the man in his underpants. “And brush your teeth! Your breath smells like hell.”

“I’ll have you know when I was still an angel, my breath was _heavenly._ ” The man stomped off down the hall to use the sink in the guest bath.

Meg looked up from Charlie’s laptop. “Did Clarence just make a pun?”

“Yep, I think so. I must be rubbing off on him. God knows the Winchesters don’t have a sense of humor. I swear that Men of Letter’s bunker is like in-school suspension.” She opened a bottle of water and sat across from Meg, studying the demon’s face. She didn’t _look_ evil. But neither did Mr. Roman, but whatever.

“You know, you don’t have to call Cas ‘Clarence’ when it’s just us.”

“I never call him anything else, unless it’s tree topper or cloud jockey. You know, I liked your term yesterday: Hot Wings. I think I’ll use that.”

“Wait, you mean that _you’re_ the source of the name Clarence?”

“Yeah, from _It’s a Wonderful Life._ ”

“Oh. My. God. That is sooo romantic. He never calls himself anything else when we’re undercover. When he first fell from heaven that was the first human name he used. And now when we go anywhere and pretend to be agents of whatever agency, his first name is _always_ Clarence. Tell me. Tell me. How did you two first meet?” She knew she was gushing like a teenager, but really, they knew so little about Castiel. And Meg had a _history_ with him.

Meg just sighed and rubbed her temples. “When we first met, I was with another guy. But Clarence here basically set me on fire.” She tapped the touch pad a few times, then tabbed over to another document.

“Sounds steamy. Go on.”

“No, I mean, he really set me on fire.” Meg looked up from the screen at her, meeting her eyes. “He threw my body on an inferno of blazing holy oil and then walked over my body while I screamed in agony.”

“Ugh, that wasn’t quite what I was expecting.” She thought about that for a few minutes. It really didn’t seem that out of the ordinary for how they met anybody in the hunting business. “There’s so much tension when the two of you are in the room together, I just figured…You know, hot and angry angel on demon sex or something.” She made some gestures with her hands.

“Got it. I know these guys.” Meg ignored her, tabbed out of the programs, and closed the laptop. “Seriously Charlie. You need to drop this subject.”

“What subject?” Cas walked back in the room with toothpaste smeared on his cheek.

“Come on, you little feather duster. We need to see a man about a boat.”

The manager at the Duncan Bay Boat Club knew the three men, but explained they used a private slip for their boat and not the public marina. They all knew they were fishing buddies two weekends a month. Unfortunately, he didn’t know where their dock was.

“Keith ran around with them in highschool. I remember now. They would all go fishing every chance they could on Jeff’s dad’s boat, mostly around Bois Blanc Island and Mackinac.”

“Keith. As in your ex-fiancé Keith?”

Cas’ head whipped around at that. “Fiancé?”

“Elizabeth Morgan was engaged to him, not me,” she said in a hurry. “Anyway, the harbormaster confirmed that all four were still fishing buddies, and your PD reports say the other three disappeared after going for drinks down at the pub. So I say we go there and see if Keith attracts any creepy crawlies.”

“How do you know he’ll be there? Don’t you think he might be scared off after what happened to his friends?”

“No, Red. Because I’m going to ask him out on a date. Morgan never put out before she left for LA. There’s no way he’s going to pass up this chance. He’s wanted to get in these pants since he was in junior high.”

Charlie couldn’t help but steal a glance at Castiel when Meg made this pronouncement. She wasn’t disappointed when she saw his face darken. _Jealous much?_ _“_ Come on! I’ve got the cutest outfits packed. I never leave town without the ability to go on the prowl.”

“Sure Charlie, but you only pick up chicks.”

“Trust me. I’m a pro at cleavage shirts and ass pants. Lesbians eat that stuff up. Literally.” The two women laughed as they grabbed Charlie’s duffle and went upstairs to start picking through her outfits.

True to her word, Keith showed up at the bar. Charlie pretended to hang all over Cas to give it a double date feel. Both women wore plunging v-necks, and Meg wore a pair of her own tight jeans and high heeled boots. She had helped Meg with her hair. It was kind of fun helping the other woman doll up for a night out, even if it was just to catch a killer.

Charlie and Meg sipped on Malibu and Coke and Keith kept ordering something called IPA #11, which was apparently a local microbrew. A platter of loaded skins arrived just as Cas came back to the table with a round of shots.

“Bushmill’s everyone. Enjoy.”

She could handle her whiskey with the best of them, and was glad Cas was wise enough not to get something harsh like Jack or Wild Turkey. Hell, she’d tried much worse at Wizard World. After she spotted Meg toss hers down the hatch, she gave her shot a sip. _Smooth._

After the second round, Keith offered to pick up the next batch of shots on his way back from the men’s room. Charlie scooted her chair to watch the bathroom door. They were all a bit tipsy, but she felt comfortable knowing that both Meg and Cas apparently had a supernatural tolerance for alcohol. Or maybe they were just alcoholics, but she didn’t think so. They didn’t drink like Dean did.

When Keith leaned over the bar to place his shots order, she spotted a woman with long black hair and a silver tank approach and touch his arm.

“Hey, catch this. Look at the cougar hanging all over your fiancé.”

“Ex-fiancé,” both Meg and Cas said at the same time.

“Aaand, there goes your boyfriend out the front door.”

All three of them scooted their chairs back from the table as one. Good thing they’d been paying for their drinks as they went. She would have felt guilty if they’d had to dine and dash. They made it to the parking lot as the saw the black sedan pull out.

“Come on, I’m driving. You’re both human and shouldn’t be behind the wheel.” Meg held her hand out for Charlie’s keys. “Besides, Morgan grew up her and I know all the roads from her memories.”

In moments, they caught up to the Nissan on Old Mackinaw Rd., and she worried about their headlights in the other woman’s rear view mirror. “Don’t get too close. You’ll tip her off that they’re being followed.”

“Right.” Meg’s eye’s turned black and she crept closer to the other car. “Taken care of.”

“What do you mean?” Cas asked. “We’re right behind them.”

“We are, but they can’t see us anymore.” Her voice sounded eerie when paired with her inky black eyes.

Charlie ventured another look at the car they were tailing. Their headlights no longer reflected off the rear end of the Nissan or on the trees to either side of the road. Admittedly, between the shots of Bushmill’s and the rum and coke, she couldn’t be sure she wasn’t imagining it.

Meg whipped their car onto an unmarked side road and slowed down a bit. “I can mask our headlights, but there’s nothing I can do about the sound of gravel under our tires,” she said as way of explanation.

The sedan was parked near an old outbuilding in a small clearing. Meg cut the engine and idled into place behind it. They slid out, leaving the car doors open so that the sound of closing doors wouldn’t alert whoever was inside.

“Alright. Let’s go storm the Dreadfort.” Charlie rolled her shoulders and pulled out her pistol registered to Carrie Heinlein.

“Only if I get to be Asha. I’d guess that’d make you the Lady Sansa. All hail the Queen in the North.” Meg grinned at her then, and Charlie was struck by how beautiful she was despite the blacked out eyes.

Charlie smiled back at her. _Yes, she could work with Meg again._ To her other side, she saw Castiel pull out a shotgun from the trunk. Meg pulled a knife from her high-heeled boot. They were ready.

They burst through the door into the outbuilding. It must have been an old fish smoking shed, as there were old fashioned drying racks pushed up against the walls. They saw Keith tied to a chair in the center of the room with the dark haired woman pacing in front of him, yelling and brandishing a knife. It hadn’t been hard to sneak up on her with all the noise she was making.

“Where is she? Tell me where she is or you will end up like the others.” She swung the blade under Keith’s nose again, but that’s when he spotted their trio coming up behind her.

“Morgan! Morgan help me. This woman is crazy, please stop her!” He began jerking against the ropes that tied him to the chair. He tipped the chair over and he slammed shoulder first into the slab floor.

The woman twirled to meet them. “You can’t stop me. I won’t let you and I won’t stop. I’m not the only one.”

Charlie brought her pistol up. “Die, you murderer! You won’t kill any more men here today.” She fired off a shot, but the other woman moved liquid quick.

Castiel chased her into the darkness behind one of the drying racks, but he was knocked backwards onto the floor. Out of the shadows, a huge monster loomed over him.

“Is that? Is that an _otter?_ Like an eight foot tall _otter?!_ ”

Meg stepped up beside her and pushed her pistol down. “ _Dobhar-chú,_ we beg to listen to your tale.”

The otter thing swung its head to look at the demon. It hissed and swung its tail into some of the racks, crashing them to the ground. Keith began screaming and the monster whomped towards him where he lay prone on the floor.

_“Dobhar-chú!_ We will listen. Who do you seek?” Meg offered her hands, palm up, and set her knife on the floor.

“Meg!” Charlie hissed. “What the _fuck_ is a doyarchu?”

“It’s sort of like a selkie, but an otter.” The answer came from Cas, still getting to his feet.  "I thought they were only in Ireland.  Folk tales say they are vicious beasts, half dog and half fish.  The water-dog has razor sharp teeth and orange flippers, attacking women found alone near fresh water." 

The monster dropped back to four feet and let out a screech, twisting its body to and fro. The furred skin split and cracked, and the woman crawled out through the mouth’s opening covered in slime. The otter’s skin fell in a wet heap on the floor. Charlie couldn’t help but bend forward and give a few dry heaves. She saw that Keith’s eyes had rolled backwards in fright. She felt Meg rub circles on her back as the bile rose in the back of her throat.

"That's not true," the woman cried out from her position on the floor.  "We do _not_ attack innocent people!  We just swim, and eat freshwater muscles, and bask on the shore.  Those stories are false.  That's why my people left Ireland."

"I know.  Men used to murder their wives and claim it was the  _dobhar-chú_.  Your people were always innocent."  The angel turned to Charlie to explain further.  "Like with selkies, if you steal a water-dog's pelt, you control them.  They must come with you and do as you say, as you hold their life in your hands."

“Please.  I'm just looking for my daughter. She was taken.” The woman stood up before them, still covered in a slippery mess. Now that Charlie looked closer, she could see the resemblance in some of her features, small chin, dark eyes, small nose slits, and same brown hair.

“Taken by who?” asked Cas, circling around to stand with Meg and Charlie.

“Taken by _him_ and his three friends. We were in McRae’s Bay, myself and my daughters. They stole her and her pelt. She had to go with them. They had her pelt!”

“How old is your daughter?” Meg’s voice came out as a low whisper.

“Only twelve.”

“Twelve.” The demon’s voice sounded dead.

“The other men. They would not tell me where they took her. They would not tell me where they hid her pelt. _But I could smell her on them._ ” The woman’s voice shook with emotion. “So I took _their_ pelts.”

Meg nudged Keith awake with the toe of her boot. And not in a gentle manner. “What did you do Keith?”

“Morgan? Morgan, please help me.” Snot dribbled down over his lips as he cried in panic.

“Morgan isn’t here anymore.” Meg turned the full force of her gaze on the man she had been having drinks with just an hour before.

He finally noticed her darkened eyes. “Who, who are you? What do you want from me?”

“I should introduce myself. Hi, I’m Meg. I’m a demon.”

At that, Meg’s blonde hair streamed out from her head, fading to black. It seemed to wreathe her face in dark flames, and Charlie felt heat emanate from the demon’s body.

“Now tell me what you did!” Meg’s voice boomed out from every corner of the drying shed.

And he did. Keith told them how he and Jeff and Gary and Adam had gone out to the island. They’d seen the family slip from their pelts on the beach fronting the state forest. It was no work at all to sidle up and grab one of the discarded skins from the sunny rock in the bay. They lured the girl into their boat, controlling her with the pelt, and took her back to the mainland.

“But it’s not a _girl._ Not like a real _person._ It’s a monster. A thing!”

“Where is she?” He wouldn’t answer her. “ _Where is she?!!”_

Meg looked over at the dobhar-chú. “Why flay them?”

“They took her pelt. I would have theirs. Every last one until my daughter is home,” the woman said as way of explanation.

Meg gave the woman a nod and turned back to Keith. “So be it. Tell us where she is, or we take your skin.”

Castiel grabbed Meg’s arm, and quickly was blasted back by some sort of force. “Meg, you can’t do this. He’s human.”

“No. He’s the monster.” She raised both fists curling in her fingertips and making claws of her hands. “The best interrogators don’t even need to get their hands dirty.”

Keith screamed in agony once more, and a faint red light appeared beneath his skin.

_Oh my god, is she seriously going to flay him alive?_

Meg floated up off of her feet a few inches, her hair streamed out like black fire, and she turned her night gaze on Keith. “Where. Is. The. Girl.”

_Damn_. Meg was scary hot.

“Okay, okay, okay! She’s in Jeff’s boathouse. It’s a private slip on his grandpa’s property. Just please, don’t kill me. Don’t hurt me anymore.”

Four of them drove to the slip that night. They found her, handcuffed to a cot in the boathouse. The scared girl looked half starved and haunted with the dark circles beneath her eyes. The crust that ran from her nose told them how often and how recently the girl had cried herself out. They found her pelt stowed in a locked tool shed on the outside of the slip.

It wasn’t until Meg had broken the cuffs binding the girl that she finally ran her fingers through her black hair, turning the locks blonde once more.

The mother and daughter were grateful, but Charlie could tell the woman was nervous about what would happen to her, now that they knew she had killed three men.

“Don’t worry about it. The cops will have their killer.” Meg gave them a predatory smile that made even Castiel shiver. “The bigger worry I have is what were you doing on McRae’s Bay? That’s a resort island. It’s too busy for you to risk your family there.”

“We’ve been staying in the state forest, even since my husband was killed by a propeller in Duncan Bay. We need running water to live. Natural, wild, running water.”

When they were done making safe arrangements for the mother and daughter, the demon, the hunter, and the angel stepped outside the boathouse to let the women change in private. Meg immediately leaned over the railing and vomited into the water. _Oh god._ Charlie had forgotten for a moment what Meg had gone through in the past few years.

The demon straightened up, swiping the back of her wrist over her mouth. “Come on. The night isn’t done yet. We’ve more work to do.”

The next day, the Cheboygan PD followed an anonymous tip and found Keith passed out drunk in an old fish shack outside city limits. They found what remained of his three friends, too. In the following years, the media depicted Keith as Michigan’s version of Ed Gein.

A week later found the three waiting on the front porch for the dobhar-chú family. Meg had deeded her aunt’s home to them, explaining where to find the creek that ran across the northwest corner of the property. Apparently, it lead directly to Lake Huron if you followed the stream.

Meg shrugged. “About the house…I was never close to my aunt anyway. But I reserve the right to visit the next time I’m in town.”

Meg reached out for a handshake only to have the little girl run into her, hugging her tight around the ribs. Charlie and Castiel just shuffled their feet behind her.

She rested a hand on top of the girls head and exchanged a glance with the dobhar-chú woman. “I left some phone numbers on the kitchen table. There’s a home I know in Missouri that helps women and families recover from this sort of thing. It’s very private, very supportive, and they have excellent counselors.

The three stood around in the gravel drive, and Charlie was unsure how to say goodbye. “Will you be going back to St. Louis now?”

“Yes. There’s nothing for me here. Just a dead woman’s memories.”

“I can’t believe you just gave up your inheritance like that.” Charlie thought back to all the super-pac’s she’d hacked in the past. She was certain she could have funneled some funds to help the otter people. “I’m sure we could have found another way to help them out. You know, you should really consider joining us on more cases. You’re pretty bad-ass.”

“Thanks. And don’t worry. I kept the revocable trust and the investments she set up. I just deeded the house to them, so it’s no big loss. You know what? Maybe I’d like to hang out sometime when there isn’t killing to do.”

Meg turned to Cas then, and Charlie jumped in the driver’s seat to give them some privacy.

“Meg. I’m glad for you. And I’m glad you didn’t agree to the demon cure. I just wanted you to know that.”

“Clarence, that was over a year ago.”

“I know. But, well, anyway. Here’s my cell phone number. Without my wings, I don’t just appear if you call out my name, not that you call out my name, but. Well, here’s my number. I’d like to talk to you again.”

Charlie thumbed through the restaurant app on her phone while waiting for the two idiots in the driveway to kiss or something before she had an idea. She stuck her head out the driver side window.

“Hey, there’s supposed to be a good pasta joint on Jackson St. Do the two of you want to order a pizza?”

“Yes,” Cas answered, still looking at Meg.

Meg just sighed and rubbed her temple.

“What?” she asked confused. “What did I miss?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look! This is a great site about mythological creatures just like the [Dobhar-chÃº](http://cryptidz.wikia.com/wiki/Dobhar-chu).


	10. Oakville

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winchesters investigate mysterious drownings at a power plant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Case fic.

Sam was on his second mango smoothie by the time the others woke up. Dean stumbled in wearing his usual open robe, white tee, and boxers and made straight for the coffee pot. He saw his brother pull a flask from the front pocket of his robe and pour more than a shot into the stained cup. Kevin was right behind him, coming from the library vault where he’d fallen asleep last night. At least he was wearing pants, even if they were flannel. Sam didn’t expect to see Charlie for awhile though. He knew she’d been up late working her way through a few firewalls.

Sam bent back towards the book he was reading, trying his best with the calligraphy paired with Latin verse, when his brother slumped into the chair across from him.

“Any luck on what to do about Crowley?” His brother gestured at Sam’s book with his mug of coffee. “Not yet. I went over the tape three more times this morning to see if I could get any clues, but the priest didn’t say anything about what happens if you only take the cure halfway.” Sam pushed his hair behind his ears and then leaned forward, massaging his eyes with his fingertips. “Honestly, as long as I’m fine, I don’t give a damn about Crowley.”

“Well, what about if we try it on another demon?” Kevin asked. “I mean, you used Crowley for the trials, but can’t you use someone else to cure a different demon as a test? Obviously, we can’t use Sam, but…”

“That makes sense. Use a different human, use a different demon, and keep a log sheet for to track the experiment…” Sam trailed off, thinking. “What about Meg? At least we know where to find her.”

Dean just shook his head. “That’s a no-go. When we ran into her last, it didn’t even faze her when I tried to exorcise her. Holy water, Ruby’s knife, the Colt-nothing worked. Not even burning holy oil when I took her to Gabriel. I’m not sure what happened to Meg, but I’d rather test this on someone we know is run-of-the-mill.”

“I forgot about that. That was, what, almost a year ago?”

Dean started drumming his thumbs and pinky fingers against the table top. “You know what we need? A good old-fashioned monster case. No demons. No angels. No gray areas. We need to go kill a monster that’s eating people or something. What do you say?”

Kevin shuffled over, bringing with him a box of powdered donuts. When he sat down, he slid a laptop over to his side of the table. “I can try out that new search algorithm that Charlie made for us. She said it’s like Google alerts but better. It deletes all the junk secondary sources and fan fiction sites and includes ME reports and police scanners.”

“Thank God for Charlie,” Sam said. And he meant it. “Without her, we’d still be sitting on our thumbs outside Roman Enterprises with half the nation filing into the Leviathan stockyards.”

For the next few minutes, Kevin clicked through the prompts Charlie had designed. “Alright, I’ve got a rash of deaths in Mobile where the victims all have mysterious lesions on the brain…nope, scratch that. They all went swimming in the same bayou and some weird swamp worm swam through their ear canals and into their brains… Ew…”

Sam kicked Dean awake so he could listen too.

“So then I’ve got more than a dozen girls, ages eleven to thirteen, missing in the Allegheny Mountains.” Kevin swiped through a few more pages. “Wrong. They were found at a hotel in Cleveland and rescued from some sex trafficking ring. What is wrong with people?”

“Well, I guess those men need killing. You know? I said I wanted to kill monsters. That sounds like monsters.” Sam normally disagreed with Dean on the need to kill humans, but for once he agreed.

“Naw, the Feds busted them,” explained Kevin. “Their cases are being extradited in the federal courts, so they’ll be making friends with Bubba in some max security prison before the month is out. Let’s see…”

Kevin took a few more minutes looking through police reports. “How about some mysterious deaths on a property owned by a utility company? I’ve got three workers dead by drowning, but they’re found in dry clothes, dry rooms, and no sign of force. The county police are stumped. The ME lists the official causes of death to be asphyxiation by drowning, but the families were told the workers were electrocuted in work accidents. So the local PD is covering up.”

“That’s it. That’s the one we’ll take.” Dean looked over at him. “At least I will. You coming Sammy, or should I take Kevin or Charlie?”

Sam closed his book, and the Latin alphabet still swam behind his eyelids. He stretched. He yawned. “Let’s do this. I can use a break from all these books. For once, I’m not feeling the research. Where to, Kevin?”

“Uh, it’s in Oakville, Missouri at the electrical company. Their plant is on the Meramec River in an older part of town called Finestown.” The prophet tabbed to another screen. “Mapquest says to take highway thirty six to Hannibal, and then you turn south on highway sixty one. Non-stop is about eight hours.”

Dean pushed himself away from the table and started trotting off down the hall.

Sam just sighed. “I guess we’re leaving right now?”

“Yep. Get there by tonight and start interviewing the other workers first thing tomorrow morning.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say your big brother is excited to go kill something.” Kevin’s humor had only become drier since Crowley had killed his mom.

“Yeah, well. Welcome to my life.” It was going to be a long week.

When they turned south at Hannibal, Sam unfolded the state map, tracing highway 61 south towards Oakville. He realized it was just south of St. Louis, and dialed up James Frampton to see if he would meet them and perhaps they could all work the case together. He was surprised when Portia answered the cell instead, and she curtly informed them they were on their honeymoon, and if one more incompetent hunter called them while they were on hiatus, she and James would cook up a spell to freeze his junk via cell phone. So Sam tried to call Meg next, only to find her number was disconnected.

“Dean, has Cas talked to Meg? The number we have for her is disconnected.” “No. He’s been moping around ever since he and Charlie came back from Michigan. She hasn’t called once.”

The next morning found them driving south on Telegraph Rd. They turned left on Christopher, instead of Becker, and followed the river towards the electric plant. This part of town had old turn-of-the-century homes interspersed with new subdivisions.

“Okay, after we pass the park and the country club, we’ll come to the property for the AmerenUE plant, and you’ll turn left onto Fine Road.”

The Impala headed down the utility road, but they stopped short when they saw a Homeland Security sign warning trespassers off. They’d been prepared in workman’s clothes, but pulled off to the side to change into their suits instead.

“Homeland Security? What’s up with that? Isn’t this just a utility company?”

“Sam, you don’t understand. Utility hubs are a huge target for people who want to take out the power grid. Haven’t you _watched_ any of those action movies they played in all our shitty motel rooms?”

They made their way to the security checkpoint at the gate where they were met by two guards and a handheld scanner.

Sam leaned out the passenger window, flipping his badge open. “I’m Agent Farner, this is Agent Brewer. We were sent to investigate the three ‘work accidents’ as a possible risk to Homeland Security.”

The guard at his window jotted down the details on her clipboard while he saw Dean chatting up the man on the driver’s side. “You’re not on the list. Homeland Security has to notify us in advance, and you don’t have clearance. You can turn around now, or we can have a security detail remove you. It’s your choice.” She nodded over the top of the car at her partner, and the other guard called it in over his radio.

“We’ll get this cleared up with the home office. We’ll be back tomorrow.” Damn. This was always a lot easier in the smaller towns. They pulled a u-turn, and headed back towards Christopher Road.

The next few minutes saw Sam back on the phone and getting in touch with Charlie to manufacture the clearance they needed to get into the plant.

“It’s not that easy, Sam,” she explained. “This is Homeland Security. I can hack a corporate office or a super-pac in my sleep, but the federal sites take a little more finesse. Just stand by. I’ll text you when you’re good to go back to the plant.”

“So Charlie says to stand by, she’ll work on it. Do you want to go talk with the families?”

“No. She’ll come through for us. Let’s go to this park that’s next door,” Dean suggested. “Google Earth showed it butts up against the power plant in the satellite photos. Neither the park or the electric plant is fenced along the river, so we could probably just walk the railroad tracks that front the bank.”

The pulled into the lot for Bee Tree Park, and changed into their regular clothes. Their jeans, flannels, and field coats were more appropriate for walking around the county park that their suits or “workman” clothes. A quick check on the map app on Sam’s phone pointed them towards the south trail that wound along the river up on a bluff. It would take them past a lookout and a gazebo positioned at the head of the trail.

“This is nice. Maybe we should mulch some of the trails around the bunker.”

“Dean.”

“What? I’m just saying this is a nice trail.” And it was. Sam noticed most of the park goers stayed near the trailhead at the gazebo and the drinking fountains, but several jogged with their dogs or walked hand in hand down the paths piled high with hardwood mulch. At one of the bends that overlooked the river, a photographer had set up with a couple for their engagement photos.

After about a half-hour, the brothers mostly had the trail to themselves. A couple of times, Sam slid down the bluffs that lead down to the railroad tracks and riverbank, but each time, mud blocked his way.

“You’re buying me new shoes after this.” Sam tried in vain to wipe the mud from his soles on a fallen log but only managed to have the rotted bark crumple and stain his shoes even more.

“Whatever. You know you love it.”

The mulch petered out, and they just mucked their way further south as the trail narrowed. Dean began to walk a little to the side of the trail to keep his still mostly clean shoes clear of the mud.

From around the next bend in the park path, they could hear the tell tale sound of sneakers hitting the ground and the heavy, steady breathing of a jogger. A petite woman shot around the bend in dark grey running shorts and a black sports tank. Her black hair was pulled back in a pony tail, and she held her bangs back from her forehead with a cloth headband. She glanced up at the brothers, who had tried to stand to the side of the path out of her way, but she gave a double take.

“Aw fuck.”

She bolted sideways off the east side of the path, scrambling over boulders and fallen limbs in her efforts to get away from the men and down to the openness of the railroad tracks at the base of the bluff.

Sam wasn’t expecting someone to so clearly run from the Winchesters. That was normally a very bad sign when someone immediately recognized hunters and took off. He and his brother took off down the embankment a split second later. They set off an avalanche of small rocks and wet leaves skittering in the path and more than once his brother lost his footing and slid on his butt in the mud. When they hit the easement by the tracks they split off to chase her down.

Dean crossed over to the bank closer to the water and Sam opened hi s stride on the flat tracks. His longer legs quickly outstripped the other two. A coal train was bearing down on him from the north, and he crossed over towards the bank as well. Now the woman was pinned between them with the river on one side and the train on the other.

“Fucking dammit!” The jogger picked up a large rock from the bank and chucked it into the river with a huge plop. “Also, FUCK.”

“Meg?” Dean lowered his gun.

 _Shit_. His brother was right. They weren’t used to seeing her dressed like a cross-country track star. That must be why they didn’t recognize her at first.

“I gotta ask. What’s with the new look?”

“You’re both such idiots, you know that right? Why won’t you hunters stay out of my life?”

Sam checked Meg out while she traded barbs with his brother. She was still using the same body, but somehow it was different and it was more than just the hair and a tan. He could tell she was an experienced runner by the look of her calves, and her arms and shoulders were more heavily muscled.

“Meg, when did you get so ripped?” Sam asked.

The demon turned from the sass contest she was having with Dean and gave Sam a searching look. “As soon as my primary gave me the go ahead.”

“Your primary? You mean your doctor?” Sam was confused. “You’re a demon. Why do you need to see a doctor?”

“Oh my god. I’m not getting into this again. Suffice to say that when I’m in a fight, it’s helpful if my vessel is in fighting shape so that I don’t spend so much of my power just staying on my feet. Now can we drop it? What are the two of you doing in my city again. There are still 30 coal cars of this train to pass, so you have plenty of time to explain yourselves.”

“People are dying over at the electric plant. They’re drowning, but their bodies are found dry,” explained Sam.

“At the Meremac Plant? Did you try the unfinished castle?”

“What unfinished castle?”

“The Wood-Smith Castle. It’s on Ameren property. I come to this park all the time, and I run into teenagers who break in to see it. They tell all sorts of stories about it: hauntings, ghouls, or the crazy ghost of the man who built it.” Meg turned and pointed south towards the path on the bluff. “The trail ends near a fence that’s been cut away by trespassers.”

“Well, we need to stall while Charlie gets us a pass to get through the gates, so it’s as good a place to start as any.” Sam pulled out his phone and pulled up the satellite feed. Sure enough, when he zoomed in, he found ruins on the north side of the plant’s property close to the border fence. “Will you come with us?”

“What happens if I don’t?”

Sam narrowed his eyes at her. “We’ll just stay in town longer and harass you. And if we don’t solve this, we’ll send more hunters that won’t be as sympathetic to your cause.”

“You know it,” Dean added.

“Damn.” She tapped a finger against her bottom lip. “Alright. I’ll show you the opening in the fence if that will help you out.”

After the last of the cars rumbled past, the three picked their way over the river rock and clambered back up the muddy path to the bluff trail. Meg led the way, and as they followed, Sam noticed the demon had a latticework of scar tissue covering her back. It shocked him, because he normally forgot what the demon had been through as a result of helping them so often. The scars stood out pale against her tanned skin and twisted the tissue unnaturally.

Five minutes later saw them facing ten feet of chain link topped by razor wire. Dean slipped through the opening another had made at the corner post and Sam was at his heels. He looked through the metal links at their reluctant helper and just gestured silently in an invitation to join them.

Meg laughed under her breath, and he thought he heard her curse quietly again. “I’m not packing heat. If you’ll give me a loaner, I’ll follow you in…but the first sign that security is on our tail, I’m out.”

Dean pulled an extra knife from his belt sheath and offered it hilt first. The demon ducked under the chain link as Sam held it up and away from the post and reached for the blade. “Fine. We just have to be done by sunset or the park rangers close the gates on the parking lot and we all get fined for trespassing after hours.”

_Was she really concerned about trespassing?_

They stepped silently through the brush and followed the fence line for a hundred feet or so. Sam pulled up ‘Wood-Smith Castle’ on his phone in the meantime, hoping to find some hints before they got there. It wasn’t long before they reached a mortared rock wall lining a path overlooking the Mississippi River to the east. The three followed it and quickly encountered a stone gazebo with a collapsed roof. The paused to get their bearings and saw a few barges pass below in the channelized river.

“Now I know why the teenagers sneak in. This would be a great make-out place.” Meg stood with one hand on her borrowed knife and the other fisted on her hip as she surveyed the ruins of the castle.

“It’s not much, is it? According to this, they never even built the castle itself. Just some border walls, a few stairways, and a fountain or two. Unless this is built on an old graveyard, I don’t see why this would even be haunted.” Sam closed the tab on his phone and opened another document on the area. “It’s actually…well…pretty. It has a great view, idyllic woodland scenery, no murders…I want to live here. I wonder that no one else bought out the property and finished construction?”

Dean pulled his EMF meter from his back pocket and started sweeping the area. “I’ve got nothing.”

Meg left the brothers and crept closer to an old cistern long dry. The little reservoir or fountain was overgrown with Redbud trees and honeysuckle still in bloom. She dropped down inside and ran her free hand along the stones lining the old water tank. “Hey guys! I’m picking something up. No spirits, but…like an echo.”

Sam peered down from his position high on the wall and saw Meg’s eyes flicker between black and hazel. He exchanged a nod with his brother, and in moments Dean was in the reservoir with her, scanning for electromagnetic frequencies. The needle began swinging, and he followed it to a buried cable. In fact, near the corner of the unfinished building site, the electric plant had installed one of its huge towers, running thick cables from a plant on the river bank up the bluff to their main facility.

“Sammy, whatever it is, it’s following the wires.”

He pulled out his Smartphone again and did another search. Sure enough, he had missed it the first time. A little girl had died in the well when this was still an active construction site in the thirties. “It looks like one of the daughters died there by drowning. Not murder, just an accident,” he yelled down to them.

“That’s sad,” Meg said, shocking them both.

“Sad? Since when are you sad about people dying?” Dean asked.

She just shrugged. “Hey, I can be evil and still find dead kids depressing. All demons were human once, in case you forgot.”

“So what are the chances we’ll find some ninety year old DNA?” he asked from where he still stood on the wall above them both.

“Not a ice cube's chance in Hell,” Dean quipped.

“I don’t think that’s the issue. I said it’s not a spirit but more like an afterimage.” Meg passed her borrowed knife back over to Dean and held out both hands palm up. A breeze that Sam couldn’t feel seemed to ruffle her hair.

“Here. See? Some of the stones have crumbled at this corner near the tower, exposing the buried cable. I think it’s just some transference, nothing sinister.” He saw her paw through some wet leaves and dead grasses growing at the edge of the sunken chamber.

He trotted down the worn stone stairs to meet the demon and his brother near the dry water tank. Just as he reached the bottom landing, two security guards popped up over one of the low stone walls, guns trained on them. He and Dean immediately pulled their weapons, and he noticed that Meg had disappeared. _Typical_.

Sam saw the air shimmer from behind the guards, and suddenly Meg was behind them both. An unseen force knocked the gun from his hand and the blast made him flinch. He whipped his head around and watched as she placed a hand on the back of both of their skulls and for a brief moment their eyes rolled back in their heads. The brothers took the opportunity to scramble away from the cistern and find their guns.

“If you pick those back up you’re next. What is _wrong_ with you?” Meg continued to hold the backs of the guards’ heads, and Sam saw their bodies spasm violently before collapsing to the forest floor.

The demon stepped over their bodies where they lay prone in the dirt and gestured to both Winchesters. “Now stand behind me and follow my lead.”

The two security men regained consciousness and got to their feet. They acted a bit dazed, and Meg bounced up to them. Except it wasn’t Meg anymore. Not really. Their demonic ally was now a bubbly blonde threatening to overflow the top of her sports bra. She stood really close to both security guards and began babbling non-stop.

“Oh my god! I’m so happy you were able to help me. When my dog ran off I had no idea what I was going to do. This nice couple I met on the trail agreed to help me, but I was so afraid when I saw Biscuit run through the fence.”

She gestured at him and Dean when she mentioned meeting the couple, causing them both to grimace. “If the two of you hadn’t helped us corner her, I’m sure I would have lost Biscuit for sure. Thank you soooo so much!” She reached out a hand and squeezed the arm of the closest man and Sam could see neither man was looking her in the face.

“I appreciate you tracking her down for me. Now that I have her, can you take me back through the fence? I don’t know if I can find my way back.” Faux Meg’s voice sounded too saccharine, Sam was sure the guards would see right through her. When she did an exaggerated pratfall over the exposed cable at the edge of the dry well, it was all he could do not to groan in embarrassment. The demon stumbled to her knees and gave an audible squeak.

“Ow! What did I trip on?” She made a big show of rooting through the leaves before pulling the dried grass and brush away from the cable. “Should these wires be exposed like this? Isn’t this dangerous?”

Both guards competed to be the first to help Faux Meg to her feet, and the losing man, Horvath it said on his badge lanyard, settled for calling in the situation. “False alarm in northeast sector. Just a loose dog that escaped in from the park. We _did_ find a cable stripped of its insulation sheath. Cut marks on the plastic coating look recent. Recommend immediate repair.”

Faux Meg and her security detail moved off toward the opening in the fence, Meg holding an invisible leash for an invisible dog that apparently both guards were able to see. Sam and Dean followed behind after finding their handguns where they’d fallen in the ruins. He exchanged a few furtive glances with his brother and just shrugged. _Well, at least they didn’t have to shoot anybody._

When they reached the breach in the fence, he saw Meg flirt badly once more with both men, but the guards still didn’t seem to mind. Horvath and his partner Mora held up the chain link for all three to duck back through to the park side. As they were walking back off, he heard one of them murmur about how they made a cute couple. _Ugh_.

Once the guards were out of sight Meg whirled on them, hands on her hips and bright spots of anger on her cheeks. “Seriously, what is wrong with you two? Is it just laziness? Stupidity? What exactly do you think would have happened if you shot two _human_ security guards in an area monitored by Homeland Security? Are you trying to draw attention to yourself?”

“Apparently you are,” Dean said as he stared at Faux Meg’s absurdly enhanced chest.

“Asshole.” She snapped her fingers, and her hair darkened to black and the rest of her features subtly shifted back to normal.

“What do you care? You’re just a demon?”

“Uh, yeah, dumbass. I’m a demon who’s trying to lay low. I'm evil, not stupid.  You can get a lot further with a bit a glamour and some white lies that you can with a gun or superpowers. I used just a trickle to filter my appearance. If I had needed to cover up two murders that would have been another story entirely.”

“Right we get it,” Sam said, pushing his hair behind his ears. “You’re a good liar.”

“I’m not a good liar. I’m the best liar. Why do you think Lucifer recruited me? Anyway, you’re welcome.”

“Welcome? For what?” asked Dean.

“ _For fixing your damn hunter problem_. Now, they’ll repair that exposed cable that is waaaay too close to the site of a death. Once it’s insulated, you won’t have to worry about the echoes transferring via electricity to the other men and women who work along that conduit.” She readjusted her pony tail and headed north on the trail back towards the parking lot.

“How do you know it will work?” Sam wanted to know.

“Because I’ve been dead longer that the both of you and all your friends have been alive put together. Now get the fuck out of my city.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!! The [Wood-Smith Castle](http://irrationalecstasy.blogspot.com/2006/01/woods-smith-castle.html) is real.
> 
> Comments are always appreciated.


	11. San Jose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo and Ellen decide to tour The Winchester Mystery House for a laugh, but they get more than they bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you [kriszeth](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kriszeth/pseuds/kriszeth) for the chapter prompt!
> 
> Case fic.

Jo shouldered her way through the hotel door and then kicked it shut with her boot. Her mom was still sitting at the dinette table in the corner by the AC unit looking through the pamphlets from the lobby. The room already had a nice lived-in feel, with the polyester bedspreads lumped on the floor and the trash can overflowing with junk food wrappers.

“Dinner!” she announced and then upended her grocery sacks on the low table that held the TV and single serve coffee maker.

Ellen Harvelle rushed over to rifle through the foodstuffs only to cluck her tongue over the choices. “This is no way to eat, Jo. No wonder you’re so skinny.”

“Mo-om. We’re on _vacation_. It’s okay to eat a little junky.”

“A little?” She held up a bag of Sour Patch Kids and a Snickers bar. “I hope the McComb department has a good dental plan for you.”

Jo just rolled her eyes at her mother and then proceeded to peel open a sack of mini Reese’s cups, popping a handful in her mouth at once.

 _“Whuh yew wahn goo?”_ she said around a mouthful of chocolate.

Ellen spread the tourism pamphlets in her hands like playing cards. “I thought we might go to this museum tomorrow: the Rosicrucian Egyptian Museum. It’s supposed to have the largest collection of works this side of the Mississippi.”

Jo gave a shudder. “No, thank you. I watched The Mummy. With our luck, I’d read from the Necronomicon or something and we’d spend the rest of our vacation in San Jose running away from a loin-cloth wearing mummy.”

“Mmm. Men in loin-cloths running,” Ellen murmured to herself.

“Ew.”

“Say what you will, kid, but there’s a reason I encouraged you to watch George of the Jungle, The Mummy, and The Jungle Book when you were younger.” Her mom got a dreamy, far-away look on her face. “Well, if you say no to the Egyptian museum, how about the Jazz Festival? It’s downtown tomorrow through Sunday.”

Jo leaned over the little table, fingering through the adverts and flyers. One in particular caught her eye. She held it up, grinning wickedly.

“No,” said Ellen.

“Please?”

“No,” she insisted again.

 _“Pretty please?”_ Jo asked again.

“I am not going to the Winchester Mystery House. That’s just ridiculous and stupid and reckless. We have a deal,” Ellen reminded her. “No more mystery spots. No more haunted houses. _No more hunting_.”

Her mom was still protesting when she and Jo parked the old pickup in the visitor lot the next afternoon. They’d arrived just in time for the last tour of the day and quickly shelled out forty bucks apiece for the grand tour. More grumbling from her mom, even though Jo paid for her own ticket.

“ _Come on_ , it’s nothing more than a tourist trap these days,” she said to Ellen in a low voice when the rest of the group walked around a corner. “You know as well as I do that several hunters have cleared this place over the years. It’s squeaky clean of spirits and the rumors are just to pull in attendance on the tours.”

“No. I know you’re right. But _The Winchester House_? We’re crazy. That’s all it is. We both finally went crazy with all that’s happened.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Jo said as she reached back and put her blonde hair up in a sloppy pony tail.

Admittedly, it wasn’t that bad of an afternoon. Jo was a people watcher at heart. Granted, it was sort of her job now that she was a cop. And that brief time she tried hunting, she’d always been wary of those around her, especially as the clock counted down towards the apocalypse. But it was more than that. When she had still wiped down tables at her mom’s bar, she’d love to watch the folks that wandered into the roadhouse. Jo would spot a patron, make a quick calculation of their clothing, their mannerisms, their shoes…she’d make up a nickname and a whole life story about them by the time they finished their first bourbon. And there’s nothing like a haunted house tour for people watching.

As with any tourist trap, there were too many truck stop t-shirts, fanny packs, and plastic visors. There was the old man in the trucker hat, Faded Glory jeans, and Red Wings jersey. She nicknamed him Detroit. There was the frazzled mom with too many kids sporting yoga pants, a striped tank-top, and a bluetooth in her ear. _Soccer Mom and the Little Rascals._

A young black couple with their daughter had been the first to join the tour group. They were from DC. Jo noticed how many of the other tourists pretended not to look at them. She saw who double checked their wallet when the husband stood nearby. She picked up on these things more since she went to work at McComb’s police department. Some of the other officers called it casual racism. Jo made sure to give their daughter a conspiratorial grin. The little girl smiled shyly back and started spinning on one foot, letting her braids spin out around her. She reminded her of Rudy from the Cosby Show, but she simply though of the family as the DC parents.

Rounding out their group were two dudebros. They sported matching polos with popped collars and Addidas sandals. Frankly, they were practically copies except that one dude wore khaki shorts and the other purple plaid. Jo rolled her eyes when they tried to catch her eye. _Frat Boy and Douchebag, she decided._

An hour later, Jo was bored. Most of the furniture had apparently been sold off when the old bat had died, so all that was left wasn’t even real memorabilia-it was all staged. And although she liked all the Tiffany glass, if she never saw another panel of wainscoting again, it would be a good life.

“Mom, let’s get out of here. I was wrong. Your mummy museum would have been much better.” Honestly all these fanny packs on the tourists were getting to her.

“Joanna Beth, we are not leaving the tour. You dragged me here against my better judgment. Let’s go. The group is about to lose us.” Ellen stopped speaking suddenly when they rounded the corner.

Soccer Mom was rattling the handle of a six panel door and it jostled against the door jamb but didn’t budge. DC dad leaned over her and began to knock impatiently, calling out their guide’s name.

“What happened here?” Ellen said as she trotted up to them.

“The door just slammed shut behind the rest of the group. We can’t open it and no one is answering our knocks,” Soccer Mom explained.

“Here, let me,” Jo offered, then pulled out her picks and leaned toward the knob.

“Dude, are you seriously picking that lock?” asked the Frat Boy in the purple shorts.

She didn’t even look over her shoulder and she reached a hand out and flipped her badge at them. “Don’t worry, I’m a professional.”

“Dude, she’s a cop!” Khakhi Shorts said to Purple Shorts. “Hey, cop lady. You got handcuffs?”

Jo tuned them out and a quick * _snick_ * later and the tumblers were in place and the knob turned freely. She yanked on the door only to find a paneled wall behind it. “Shit. Were you sure the guide went through this door? That’s the charm of the Winchester House. Doors and stairs that lead to nowhere.”

“I, I _thought_ it was this door.” Soccer Mom looked around the room, acting unsure of herself.

Ellen and Detroit immediately began trying the various doors that lead off of this room. Some opened on blank walls, one opened on a bathroom, one door lead to a stairway that ended at the ceiling. Finally, the little girl, Jo discovered Bethany was her name, leaned on an inconspicuous part of the wall that suddenly swung open to a narrow passageway.

“God, I hate secret passageways,” Ellen grumbled.

“Don’t remind me.” Jo’s thoughts drifted back to the time she trapped the ghost of H.H. Holmes. That apartment building had been riddled with hidden rooms, secret corridors, and false walls. She shuddered with the memory.

An hour later, they’d lost Khakhi Shorts dudebro and Ellen behind a wall panel that suddenly slid shut. Frat Boy and DC dad threw themselves against the wall and tried kicking in the panel, but couldn’t break through to Ellen. Her voice eventually faded. The remainder of the group looked to Jo. As a police officer, she was in a position of authority. As much as she panicked that her mom was missing, she needed to keep control of their situation, or at least give the appearance, or else she’d have frightened useless folk on her hands.

"I feel like we're trapped in one of those portal games." Jo paced, rubbing her temples. No matter which door they tried, the house seemed to always herd them back here to the main hall, or at least it used to be the main hall before the endless additions.

"What if we tried opening every door at once?" asked Bethany.

"Smart girl." She took a breath and looked around. There wasn't much of their little group left. 6 adults, 5 doors. “Okay, as she said, let's try every door at once. DC, stay with your kid. The rest of us each take a door."

She was nervous, but didn't let it show. She knew at this point that they were all relying on her. And with her mom lost somewhere in the house...Jo shook her head. "Let's do this. On three."

They opened the doors simultaneously, but instead of finding the Red Room, or the Tiffany room, or even the Hall of Mirrors, she saw a broom closet. "What the f.." She slid her eyes over to the little girl. "...fudge." Jo kept a firm hand on her doorknob and glanced over her shoulder at the others. Each had a different closet. Not a single door offered a way out.

"Maybe it has a false back?" Soccer Mom suggested.

The woman stepped inside, raising a hand to knock on the panels at the back of her closet. Suddenly, the lights flashed in the hall and the sound of the door slamming made her jump. The sound of Soccer Mom screaming made Bethany begin sobbing. Soccer Mom's screams cut off abruptly and they all held their breath.

"Well, fuck this!" Frat Boy said as he slammed his door. He ran to the others and pulled them from away from the doorways, closing each as he went. He stopped in front of Jo, panic in his eyes. "Come on, lady. Shut the damn door. You heard what happened to her."

She still kept a firm grip on the knob and glanced back inside her closet. It was a closet. Just a closet. There was a broom and a Swiffer mop. A fly swatter hung on a nail. There was a little tin pail sitting in the corner holding a cleaning jug and a regular string mop. It was just a closet.

"Hold my hand."

"What?"

"Hold my hand, Frat Boy, and then hold their hands. Everyone join hands, okay?" Jo waited until everyone was linked. Once they were, she leaned in and grabbed the broom and darted back out quickly. She was breathing hard now and did the best she could to control her voice. It was a relief when nothing squirmed out from the confines of the closet to grab her. Jo took a few more deep breaths and then used the broom to sweep the rest of the closet contents out through the doorway and then in the hall. As soon as all the items were clear, the door slammed shut on its own, prompting more screams from the group.

"What did you hope to accomplish with that stunt?" asked Detroit.

"I don't know what you see, but I see three handles we can use as weapons or prods. Here you go. Here's a bucket for all your bullshit." The DC parents snickered at that, but she saw the mom put her hands over Bethany's ears.

Frat Boy took the string mop, hefting it in his hands and then swooping it around. He met her eyes and shrugged. "I played lacrosse in school."

She snorted. _Figures_. “What’s your name, Frat Boy?”

“Skylar.”

She snorted again.

"Okay. We'll keep going. We'll follow the rooms until we see an outside chamber. Let's see if we can break a window to get out of here and then get help." She looked around and met everyone's eyes. It helps to have a plan. Or atleast pretend you have one. If people started to panic, really panic, they'd never get out of here.

"Bethany stays in the middle." _Oh god, where were Soccer Mom's kids?_ "You two on either side. Don't let go of her. Everyone holds hands. I'll take point."

Skylar stepped up next to the family. "I'll lead you in, right behind her." It was quick. One moment Skylar was right behind her. The next, he was screaming as the trapdoor opened beneath his feet. DC Mom scrambled back, windmilling her arms as she tried not to fall in after him. Bethany shrieked in fear at the top of her lungs and grasped desperately at her mom's shoulders when she began to slide down. Jo jumped over the hole in the plank floor and grabbed ahold of one of DC Mom's arms, tugging with all her strength. She was petite, but she knew how to use her body weight. It was one of the things she'd had to contend with while at the police academy was taking out larger and heavier opponents. Finally, the woman pulled free of the floor and they all slumped backward in relief.

"Jaenelle, Jaenelle!" DC Dad said over and over. He held his wife's face between his palms and stared at her in relief. _So that was her name._

Jo sat back on her heels and looked at what she had left. The family from DC and the scruffy Red Wings fan. Well. She didn't have many left and she had NO idea if they were anywhere close to the outside rooms of the house yet. She was desperate. More than desperate. She needed to do something she promised never to do again. _She would have to be a hunter._

"Detroit. Give me the bucket."

"What? Why?" he asked. He hugged the piece of tin to his chest like it was his most prized possession.

"I'll give you the Swiffer handle as trade, if it means that much to you." She reached back and pulled the handle from her back belt loop. She'd shaved the edge of it, making a shiv from the bracket that normally held a dust cloth. He grabbed it from her hands.

She rummaged around in her messenger satchel and pulled out her supplies. A lighter. A thick black crayon. A rabbit's foot key chain. Some empty candy wrappers. Pocket lint. "Turn out your pockets. Does anyone have any charms on their keychain? A bracelet? A brooch?"

Detroit had a walleye keychain. DC Mom had a prayer card in her wallet. Dad had a diamond stud in one ear.

"I'll take the fish if you would."

Bethany was the last to speak up, stuttering out her words around a child’s hiccups. "I-hup-I have a charm bracelet."

Jo pawed it from the girl's hand as quickly as was seemly. "I'm sorry." And then she ripped the charms from the chain one by one. The charms and the fish went into the bucket. She poured a little from the cleaner bottle over them all and then bit off her hangnail and then pulled on the rest of the skin. Once it beaded up with blood, she made a fist and squeezed it out into the bucket with the cleaner.

"What are you doing?" asked DC Dad.

"I'm soaking these in my blood to make a sacrifice and summon a demon."

"You're what?" DC Mom asked with panic in her voice.

"I didn't have enough blood, so I'm diluting it with the cleaner so all the charms can be soaked in it." Jo swirled her bleeding thumb in the bucket. It stung from the cleaner, but she smiled to see the dark swirl of her blood whirl around and touch all the charms. It would have to be enough.

She looked up at everyone then and saw the horror in their eyes. It must be like something out of a nightmare for them. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on how you looked at it, she was less traumatized because of all her prior experience. She could see that the room seemed to be shrinking in on them. Maybe it was her imagination, but it probably wasn't. She didn't see a need to bring it to their attention.

Jo leaned forward on her knees, crayon in hand, and slowly drew the pentacle on the floor and then joined the points with the circle. It was no da Vinci sketch, but it would have to do. Devil's trap drawn, she pulled each blooded charm from the bucket and placed it on the intersection of the lines, and then another inside the triangular arms.

The drawing done, she bit her tongue hard enough to draw blood and wetted her lips red. She softly spoke the incantation over her wet, coppery lips, and a breeze swept through the room, doors slamming open and shut in a frenzy. The lights flickered, her group murmured anxiously, and then they all heard the chuckle.

"What's up, Jo-Jo? Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"

In the center of the devil's trap stood a petite woman. Her dark hair was pulled up into a sloppy pony tail and she wore maroon hospital scrubs with blue geckos on them. Her face was pale but she had winged eyeliner and a perfect pout. The name tag on her lanyard said she worked for HSMO. Jo didn't recognize the hospital name but shuddered to think a demon walked its halls.

"Meg."

"Aren't you going to introduce me to your friends?" Meg arched an eyebrow and smirked at the huddled group behind her.

"I, I need your help. We're trapped in here, in this house. We've already lost others. The house is alive and changing and it won't let us leave."

The demon really looked around her at that point, taking time to study the walls. Jo's group peered over her shoulder and then began whispering to themselves. She heard the words ‘ghost’, ‘witch’, and ‘crazy’ at least half a dozen times. When Meg's eyes flashed to black, their little group ceased speaking at all.

"Aw kitten, what am I to do? Your mother already owes me for your life. Our deal to resurrect you entailed neither of you would hunt again. And here you are?" Meg spread her hands theatrically.

Jo stood up, dusted off her jeans, and squared her shoulders. "What do you want? My soul? My soul to save these people? Fine you can have me in ten years."

"Tsk tsk. What would Momma Harvelle say? Her little girl making deals with demons?"

"Can you do it? Don't waste my time if you can't do it." She tried to keep her voice steady, but it was hard when meeting the eyes of a demon.

Meg's eyes flashed dark once more and she zoomed forward to the edge of the devil's trap facing her down. "Of course I can do it. Don't question my abilities." The blacked-out irises faded to hazel. "But I can't do anything from in here."

"Do we have a deal? I won't let you out unless we have a deal."

"Oh Jo-Jo. No matter how much I'd love to seal the deal with you, understand I'm not a crossroads demon. I don't make deals for souls. If you still want to make-out, though..." Meg trailed off, the offer plain in her face.

She cleared her throat, suddenly feeling the flush creep over her skin. "So what is it? You can do it but you don't make deals? Can you rescue them or not? What do you need?"

Meg grinned. Or maybe she just bared her teeth. "How about you owe me one?"

"Owe you one?"

"A favor." The demon cocked her hip to one side and rolled her eyes. "You can owe me a favor, dumbass."

She worked her mouth open and closed a couple of times. "A favor? Just a favor? No deals, no contracts, no kisses, no damning of my soul?"

"I already told you, Jo-Jo, we can still kiss if you want. But yes. I'll help you and your associates escape this place and you can just do me a solid at a later date."

 _Could she do it? Now that she was faced with it, could she do it?_ Jo’s eyes flitted to Bethany, peering around the legs of her parents. "Okay," she said hesitantly. "Thanks, Meg."

She leaned forward to rub out the black crayon of the devil's trap, but Meg just whispered an incantation and stepped out of it before she was able to. She sat back on her heels and looked at the demon in shock. "You could have walked out of it at any time?! _Unbelieveable_!" she groaned.

Meg just shrugged and crossed her arms. "Hey, you don't get to be Lucifer's girlfriend without learning a couple of tricks, you know." She waggled her eyebrows suggestively at her.

Meg surveyed the parlor they were all huddled in, eyes searching the faces of the people around her. Jo thought she heard her mutter 'sheep' under her breath. "What is this place?" Meg asked suddenly as her eyes darkened. "I'm having trouble getting my bearings."

"Uhh..." _Dammit. This was embarrassing._ "It's the Winchester Mystery House."

" _Shut_ _up_. Really?" The demon walked around their subtly shrinking room to run a hand on a panel. "Daaaamn, girl. You are stupid. What did you think would happen?"

"It's not supposed to be haunted!" she pouted. "Several other hunters already came through and cleared it. Mom and I were in San Jose and thought it would be funny."

"Uh."

"And there are no factual records of people going missing," Jo went on to explain. "I mean. It isn't like this is the Murder House in Chicago that actually had a body count."

"Uh, excuse me?"

"And it's not like my mom and I didn't come prepared. We've got our anti-possession tats and hex bags in our purses. None of this was supposed to happen,” Jo finished.

"Uh, cop lady?"

"What?!"

"Do you want to tell us what's going on?" Detroit asked. "Like-you basically just used blood magic and another lady poofed in the middle of your satanic circle."

"Ugh, laymen," Meg groaned. "It's not 'satanic'. It actually predates Semitism. The pentagram's arms are part of the Golden Ratio, the perfect number in nature. This is basically the purist form of a phone call there is. The word means 'room' in Sumerian. The five points represent the five elements, and the star is representative of a human. By making the symbol and using her blood, Jo just made a room for me when she summoned me. There are COUNTRIES that have the pentagram on their flag, for cryin' out loud. It's like a personalized telephone booth."

"Wait-you're saying it's not a trap?" Jo asked.

"No kitten," Meg said in a patronizing voice. "Only those stupid enough to believe it. All your modern day demons and ghosts might buy the lie, but us older demons? The ones like Alistair or sweet lil’ ol’ me can bust right through them. So can the demons who believed in other religions before death. It doesn't do anything but summon us."

"Oh," was all Detroit could say. He still took a couple of steps back.

Jo saw that DC Mom and Dad were holding Bethany behind them during Meg's lecture. It brought her back to the situation at hand. "Right. So. You said you can't get your bearings. This isn't supposed to be a haunted house. We have no cell service. None of these rooms have brought us to a window looking outside. What can you do?"

"Turn out your pockets. What do I have to work with?"

So they all emptied their pockets again.

"What's with the crayon?"

"I forgot it in my pocket when marking some old cases of files at our precinct," said Jo.

"Yes, but why aren't you using it?"

"I did. I used it to summon you."

"Shit Jo-Jo. Draw your trail of bread crumbs," Meg suggested. "We need to mark our trail."

Jo could have smacked herself in the forehead. _Why didn't she think of that?_

And so their little group was one stronger. Meg lead the way, marking their trail with the crayon and scribbling in the time and sequence of the rooms. Jo was rearguard, and many times doors narrowly missed her as they slammed shut. One time, they heard screams through a doorway, only to open it and see glass paned walls keeping them from Soccer Mom screaming her head off three rooms away. There was no way to reach her. When they'd passed through the Red Room the fourth time, Meg called a halt. Quietly, the demon called Jo over to her side so that they could confer in private.

"This isn't working. See right there?" She gestured at a smear of black crayon on the floor leading straight out from a panel. "Those are our previous paths, but they originate in solid walls and end in solid walls. Reality is warping inside this house, and doors that weren't, now are, and doors that are, shouldn't be. This is no ghost. Other than the fact that I've felt no cold spots or drafts nor smelled a spirit with my spidey senses, I know for a fact that ghosts and demons cannot do this. Someone has the power to shift reality inside these walls."

“’Scuse you. Do you want to clue us in as to what the hell is going on around here?” said Detroit. “I think it’s time you let the men handle things.”

As one, they swept their eyes toward him. The demon cocked her head toward the man and spoke to Jo. “What’s with Trucker Bob?”

Jo looked at the older man then. He was munching on a Milky Way as he glared at all them with suspicion. She watched as Meg snapped her fingers, and Detroit’s jersey flickered between the Red Wings and the Blues.

“Huh.” Meg leaned back, crossed her arms under her breasts, and studied the man.

“What the hell was that?” Jo wanted to know.

“He resisted my glamour, that’s what,” Meg explained. She walked toward Detroit and jabbed a finger into his chest. “What the fuck are _you_?”

He calmly finished his candy bar and let the wrapper drop onto the red carpet. He held out his arms in supplication. “I din’ do nuthin’. You’re the bitch from hell.”

Jo watched as Meg squatted to the floor to pick up the wrapper without letting her eyes leave the man in the Walmart jeans and hockey jersey. She fingered the chocolate smeared plastic wrap and then brought it to her nose. Then she shuddered when she saw Meg lick the wrapper. _So gross._

“Fine prank. You’re a real trickster.” Meg’s eyes narrowed at the man. “Warped realities. Urban legends come to life. A sweet tooth. It will come to me.”

The DC family began to back away from them all in fear and a bookcase swung out and swallowed them into the wall. Jo barely had time to register before she heard the girl Bethany scream in fright. She scrambled towards the bookcase and was able to get there in time to jam her foot into the gap before it could finish closing. She heard the bones in her foot crunch before she registered the pain.

“Meg. Meg! Get over here and help me,” she screamed in panic. She was not going to lose a little girl on her watch.

“I don’t think so. I found a more amusing toy, I think.”

Jo looked over her shoulder and saw Meg circling the man she’d nicknamed Detroit. His Red Wings jersey was smoking now. She did a double-take when she realized the man didn’t even seem fazed to be basically on fire as a hellspawn demon woman circled him like prey.

“Meg, whatever you’re doing, you better do it quick. I’m not going to lose this family if I can help it.”

“Don’t worry, Jo-Jo. It’s like déjà vu. There’s a lingering scent that I’m trying to place and…Yes, there it is. The unmistakable odor of ozone and self-righteousness. What we have here is an angel!” Meg tipped one finger against the brim of the man’s ball cap, and the hat flipped off and tumbled to the floor.  Meg tipped one finger against the brim of the man’s ball cap, and the hat flipped off and tumbled to the floor. “Gabriel.”

While they stood and watched, the old man morphed into a younger man with light brown hair and gold eyes. He began to clap the slowest, most snarktastic clap known to sarcasm. “Oh, well done, well done! How did you recognize me?”

“ _Pfft_. It really wasn’t that hard. I bumped uglies with a fallen angel for years. You have his same stench.” Meg just smirked at him.

“A fallen angel,” he said quietly. “Wait a minute. Lucifer’s girl? I thought he hooked up with a little blonde co-ed.”

Meg turned back to Jo where she waited still with her foot crushed behind the bookcase. “Men! Change your hair color, and they don’t even recognize you.” She swept her eyes back to the angry angel. “Besides, Lucifer told me of your predilection for candy. He said you loved Milky Way bars, and that you would brag you were the _Devourer of Galaxies_ or some bullshit like that. Frankly, I think all of you angels are full of yourselves.”

“Fine. Ruin my fun.”

“Are the two of you going to talk each other to death?” Jo wanted to know. “Gabriel, if you’re one of the good guys, why pick on the tour group?”

He turned his eyes on her where she was still wedged in the wall. “Joanna. Beth. Harvelle. Haven’t you figured it out yet? You can’t escape the supernatural.”

“I’m _not_ a hunter anymore! When Meg brought me back, my mom made a deal that we would stop hunting. And you know what? I’m alive. I like being alive. Meg gave me and mom both a second chance. Do you know any hunters that die of old age? I don’t.”

“Jo, you’ve tried not being a hunter,” Gabriel pointed out. “Where did that get you? You tried to be a cop, and you ended up a ghost hunter. You tried to go on vacation, and you ended up saving people from a haunted house. What’s next?”

Jo grimaced and shrugged her shoulders. “No more vacations?”

“You _know_ the truth. You will never be able to turn a blind eye again. You won’t be able to ignore it,” accused Gabriel. “Once a hunter, always a hunter. Do you think you’ll be able to look the other way the next time a ghoulie or ghostie starts killing? You won’t. You don’t have it in you. Just accept it.”

Meg turned her back on the sassy angel and faced Jo where she still struggled to pry open the bookcase. “Jo, I hate to say it, but he’s right. I think that’s part of why you became a cop. You can’t turn a blind eye when people need help. You’ll still try to save people, even from the supernatural.”

“Guys, could we possibly, have this chat when I’m not half stuck in a wall?”

Gabriel gave a slight wave of his hand and the bookcase slid open from the wall, allowing the DC family to stumble free and back into the room. The angel gave a bow to the little girl and pulled a ‘magic show’ flower bouquet from his sleeve for her. Bethany quickly forgot she was crying and took the flowers with a giggle.

“Now that the cat is out of the bag, how about you give me back my mom and the rest of the tour group?” insisted Jo.

“Will you finally admit you’re still a hunter?”

Jo looked to Meg.

The demon raised one eyebrow. “Well, don’t look at me. I seem to have the same damn problem you do.  Besides, I told you last time it was up to you. Your life isn’t bound up in not being a hunter. It was always more of a…shall we say, mutual agreement between me and Ellen.”

“But wasn’t it part of the deal to bring me back?”

Meg flashed her eyes black at them. “I keep telling everyone- _I’m not a crossroads demon!_ See? _Black_ eyes. Not red. **_Black_**. Crossroads demons have red eyes. I don’t seal deals. That’s for lowlifes like Crowley.” Meg stamped her foot in frustration. “You can do what you want Jo. Be a cop. Be a hunter. Be both. Be a ballerina. I don’t fucking _care_.”

“I’m a cop. I’m a good cop.” Jo looked at the frightened family from DC. “But you’re right. I’m also a hunter. I can’t keep running away from that. I-”

Before Jo could finish her sentence, Gabriel executed a condescending bow and disappeared.

The next thing Jo knew, she was standing in the maze of gardens outside the Winchester House as the guide droned on about topiary. Gabriel must have whammied them with a teleport. She did a quick headcount. There was Soccer Mom and her kids. There was the DC family. Purple Shorts and Khaki Shorts were standing next to the fountain. Whew! There was her mom Ellen, casting her irritated glances from the other side of the small courtyard. Their party was full except for the angel who liked the Red Wings.

No one else seemed fazed, as though they’d never run for their life from a killer house. Jo just began to question the entire experience when she felt a hot breath in her ear.

“Now, about that favor.”

“Meg,” she said breathlessly. “We owe you so much. I owe you so much. You brought me back to life. You helped with that murder case in McComb. You helped us leave Gabriel’s clutches. What could I do?”

“Um.” Meg didn’t answer her right away. She just bit her lip and looked thoughtful for a time.

“Meg. The favor?” Jo reminded her. “Um. I sort of need backup. You see…I’ve set up a meet with Castiel, and…” Meg trailed off, not finishing her statement.

Jo burst out laughing. “A wingman? You want me to be your wingman on a date with an angel?”

Meg met her eyes and started laughing too. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! [The Winchester Mystery House](http://www.winchestermysteryhouse.com/) is a real place.
> 
> Also, I just wanted to remind you that in Episode "Born Under a Bad Sign" we learn that devil's traps cannot bind Meg.


	12. Los Angeles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meg and Portia take a girls trip to LA, but a killer stalks the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Case Fic

A haze had settled over the city and it wasn’t exactly what Portia had expected out of this spring trip to California. She leaned on the railing of their balcony and peered into the courtyard beneath their hotel room. She knew they’d made a mistake in letting James book their room, but she’d anticipated the usual pool filled with annoying tourists and loud children. Instead, a scooter rental place had set up shop in the little u-shaped quad catering to travelers and locals alike.

“Remind me to thank your husband,” said Meg from inside their room.

Portia winced from the sarcasm. She should have known. She loved James. She really did. But after their disaster of a honeymoon she really shouldn’t have let him anywhere near Travelocity.com when she and Meg were planning their girls’ trip to Los Angeles.

She turned back through the sliding glass door and said, “Not before I thank him first.” Portia surveyed their cramped room with art deco wall paper and industrial grade carpeting. “I don’t know why he insists on vacations with character rather than comfort and luxury. This dump looks like one of those flop houses that the Winchesters call motel rooms. At least there’re two beds.”

About six weeks ago, the demon had come knocking on their door asking to chat with Portia. Meg explained about a run-in she’d had with a mischievous angel named Gabriel and an ex-hunter named Jo that made her reexamine her attempts to lie low in obscurity in St. Louis. Meg eventually admitted she wanted to check out this bunker that Dean Winchester had told her about since she apparently couldn’t turn a corner without tripping over another ghost or monster these days. _But not before I go out and have one last hurrah. What do you say, Portia? Wanna take a girls’ trip with me?_

While Portia unpacked her duffle, Meg shimmied out of her jeans and slid on a pair of dressy shorts and some platform sandals. Going out tonight they couldn’t look more different. Portia had cut her hair short after the wedding and she wore it natural now. More than a few assholes had called her Grace Jones as way of an insult, but Portia was proud of her dark skin that was such a deep yellow brown as to almost glow black. It was a sharp contrast to Meg’s current look. The demon had decided to go blonde again, perhaps specifically for their trip to Los Angeles. Always fair skinned, she looked like some sort of delicate angel seen in those art glass windows.

“I thought we’d go down to Weller Court first to do some shopping before we have dinner,” Meg suggested. “Do you like yankiniku? The meat is grilled right on the table.”

So they left for some heavy duty shopping. If it weren’t for Meg’s demonic strength and Portia’s shifter abilities, they would have collapsed under the weight of their purchases. As it was, they had to make a trip back to their room to drop off all the stuff they’d bought at the Coach store at the mall. It wasn’t the first time Portia sent a silent prayer of thanks to Meg’s vessel’s dead rich aunt. The demon seemed to enjoy buying things for her mortal friends - or rather her only friends in St. Louis who knew her real story - with the funds from the revocable trust. _It’s not like the money is mine,_ Meg told her once. _Elizabeth Morgan would have wanted us to enjoy it._

They were finishing their second helping of masuji, a type beef dish, when the alert on Meg’s phone sounded. The demon fairly slammed her fork onto the table, muttered a string of curses under her breath, and pulled her smartphone from her clutch.

“Your phone sounds depressed,” Portia observed. Meg snorted. “I use Chopin’s Funeral March as my ringtone for hunters. I figure if they’re contacting me, somebody’s dead, am I right?” She punched her pin into the lock screen and then swiped through her messaging app.

Portia continued to devour their meal of barbecued beef shoulder and grilled peppers while Meg grumbled and swore as she read through her phone. James had recently gone ‘vegan’ and it just didn’t sit well with her. Perhaps it was the canine aspect of her as a shape-shifting familiar, but there was nothing better than the smell of grilled meat and sizzling fat.

Meg finally finished reading her messages and locked the screen on her Samsung. “Can you believe these guys? I know, I know. I had planned to call them after we got home anyway. But _one trip_. I just wanted _one trip_ where I didn’t have to solve a frickin’ murder for them. Ever since Cheboygan, that Charlie kid keeps sending me leads no matter what I do. I’ve changed my carrier and my number so many times. I’ve even used burner phones but she still tracks me down.”

“Mphph?” Portia asked around a mouthful.

“Apparently there’ve been four murders in Little Tokyo this last month all with the same MO: blunt force trauma and exsanguinations,” Meg said. “How did she even _know_ I came on vacation here?”

“Vampire or ghoul?”

“Neither-or at least Charlie says the Winchesters don’t think so. There’s no fang marks on the vics and if it were a ghoul or vamp, there’d be no need to beat them senseless before eating them.” Meg sighed, picked up her fork, and began pushing the food around on her plate. “ _One trip._ That’s all I wanted. _One trip_ without hunting. Now I know how Jo felt at the Winchester House.”

As politely as possible, she brought her napkin up and pushed the chewed food out of her mouth with her tongue. She was no longer interested in swallowing that bite now that Meg had moved on to cause of death. “You said blunt force trauma?” Portia asked.

“Yeah. The M.E. report said it was likely a lead pipe or something. And all the victims are young men with bite marks and pieces of flesh missing all over the body.”

Suddenly the other patrons of the yankiniku restaurant called the waiter over for their checks.

“So, Meg, the question of the evening is: are you on duty? Or do you still want to treat this as a girls’ trip?”

Meg thought for a moment, tapping one finger against her lips. “Both?”

Portia felt her face split in a smile. “Both are good.” And she meant it. She liked hunting with the demon woman. Even though she didn’t feel the same bond as with James, there was still a sort of kinship with her. Maybe it was the stench of hellhound that still surrounded Meg after all this time. Or maybe it was because she recognized Portia as an equal and didn’t treat her as James’ lapdog as some hunters were wont to do.

“After dinner then,” Meg said with a nod.

And just like that it was decided.

The two women went back to the hotel to change into different clothes. They couldn’t very well hunt a killer in platforms and halter tops. Portia slid a few knives into specially made pockets in her black leather pants and high boots. Whether in her canine form or human form, she preferred to have her teeth and claws at the ready.

Meg switched back to her usual dark jeans and shoved her feet into a pair of Converse sneakers. A dark olive jacket hid an angel blade and a wire garrote. “In case this calls for a beheading,” Meg said as way of explanation.

A few hours after sunset, they rented a bike from the scooter vendor who was set up in the hotel courtyard and drove off to the addresses Charlie had forwarded to them. Three were old and the scents were too faded for Portia to place. At the most recent murder site, though, she morphed into her Doberman pinscher form and took a sniff around, canvassing the area for clues.

“Definitely not human,” Portia decided once she changed back to human form. “I can’t quite place the scent because it’s nothing I’ve encountered in St. Louis before. But,” she sniffed again, “definitely male and definitely strong. I’ll be able to recognize it again if we stumble across it because it’s so distinctive.”

They spent the next few days doing what all tourists do-visit museums, spend too much on dinner, and buy cheesy souvenirs. Meg bought some T-shirts with angel puns-definitely appropriate for LA. When Portia made fun of her, she just mumbled something about someone named Clarence. In the evenings, they went to the dance clubs and complained about the house music, but they always made sure to drive their scooter through the alleyways on the way back to the hotel each night in the hopes they would run across that smell again.

It was on the third night that Portia picked up the trail again. They were passing the entrance to Azusa Street when she scented the killer’s distinctive foul aroma. Meg cut the engine and then idled into a nearby alley. Portia hopped off the back before the scooter came to a halt.

Meg slid the angel blade from the scabbard under her jacket. Suddenly, her blonde hair began to turn black, the darkness spreading from roots to tips in the blink of an eye. The faint smell of sulfur emanated from her body as she squared her shoulders and glanced over at her.

Portia nodded back at Meg and then smoothly shifted form, trotting off to the side so she could flank whoever they encountered. With her black and brown coloring and low profile in dog form, she was sure to be able to sneak up unnoticed on whoever was in the alley. It helped that the pads of her feet naturally muffled the sound of her steps as she slunk closer. She followed the shadows of the alley, masking her approach with the profile of a dumpster and the loading dock for an appliance store.

The sound of a fight reached her sensitive ears and Portia could now pick out the coppery stink in the air. There was fresh spilled blood. She made the decision to blow their cover if it could stop the assault. A quick, low growl alerted Meg and the demon rushed forward, startling the figure that was hunched over the struggling man lying prone on the asphalt.

As Portia charged out from the side, teeth bared, the killer whipped his head around to glare at her. In the faint glow of a floodlight mounted to the loading dock, she caught a glimpse of the attacker. He was wearing a navy trench coat and baggy jeans. Unnatural green eyes shone out from a red face with horns and his mouth gaped open, showing huge yellowed fangs still tinged with the blood of the man on the ground.

The red _thing_ sprung to his feet and sprinted out the east end of the alley, headed toward Second Street. Meg slid to a stop next to the victim and quickly felt for a pulse on his neck.

“He’s alive, but barely,” Meg said in a rush.

She sheathed her angel blade and held a hand over the gouge in the man’s shoulder, pressing down to stop the bleeding. The air in the alley crackled with energy and everything noticeable dimmed. As she watched, a black thread of shadow twined out from Meg’s hands and seemed to knit the torn flesh back together. It wasn’t pretty, and it was obvious that there was flesh missing, but the bleeding stopped and the man’s breathing returned to normal.

Portia lowered her nose and sniffed at the man. She gave his hand an experimental lick, and he stirred in response. She didn’t usually do very ‘doggy’ things. But people in pain always liked dog kisses, so she felt it couldn’t hurt to give him a little comfort.

Meg looked over his body toward Portia and made a not-so-subtle gesture with her chin toward the west end of the alley. Portia knew a ‘go change and come back look’ when she saw it and quickly padded back the way they’d come and shifted behind the dumpster. It wouldn’t do to have the man regain consciousness just to see her shape shift. Surely he’d seen enough monsters for his lifetime.

After they’d dropped off the man, a Japanese tourist by the name of Watanabe as it turned out, at the surgery center on Third Street, Portia and Meg rode back to the alley to pick up the fresh trail of the monster. They were both disappointed that he didn’t seem to remember much before the attack. He did have a split scalp from being hit with something, so they were pretty sure he’d lost consciousness rather quickly. The most they could do at this point was compare notes on what they’d observed and try to pick up the trail once more.

“It’s not a monster. It’s an oni,” Meg said.

“What’s an oni?” she asked.

“Well, if what you said was true…red skin, glowing eyes…and you said he had horns _and_ huge fangs. I’m not really that familiar with the creatures from some of the other continents, but it sounds like an oni. I,” Meg began to look embarrassed. “I’ve seen them on Magic cards, to be honest, so I don’t really know anything about them. But we are in one of the largest Japanese neighborhoods in the country, sooooo.” Meg ended her explanation with a shrug, hands in the air.

“So, what, call the next-gen Men of Letters and ask them to look up onis?” Portia asked.

“No. I don’t think Dean or Sam would have much info on this. Most of their experience lately seems to be with angels and ghosts and Judeo-Christian demons,” explained Meg. “I think it would probably be better to ask someone from the neighborhood, don’t you think?”

“This might be called Little Tokyo but it’s still LA, Meg. Where are we going to find an expert on onis. It isn’t like there’s some storefront with a sign saying ‘shaman within-call for an appointment’. There’s a Starbucks on that corner and a microbrewery across the street.” Portia felt annoyed. If they were back home, she’d know exactly who to go to for the local urban legends or magical ingredients.

Meg climbed back onto the scooter and leaned on the handle bars. She looked uncomfortable. “I might know someone who can help us.”

“Who do you know in LA?”

“I…might have lived here before. Or I should probably say that my body used to live here before I moved in.” And with that obscure statement, the demon started the engine and Portia hopped on.

It turned out that Meg knew quite a few people in the City of Angels. Meg, or rather her vessel Elizabeth Morgan, had spent a couple of years in Los Angeles when trying to be an actor. She took them past a talent agency and got the contact info on an old acquaintance of hers who still lived nearby.

“Lizzie?!!! Lizzie Morgan?” The woman who answered the door had shiny back hair sleeked back into a pony tail. She had a fair complexion, fawn with just a hint of pink in her cheeks. She quickly unchained the lock and pulled Meg inside.

 _Lizzie?_ Portia looked at Meg but only received a sheepish shrug in response.

“Oh my god! We all thought you were dead and then you showed up on the news last year. You have no _idea_ how shocked I was. I’m so sorry for what happened.” Meg’s friend sat them on the floor in front of a low coffee table. “Can I make you some tea? I just put the kettle on.”

“Portia, this is Jessica Kouki. We used to be in the same acting school and were roommates for awhile.”

“Hi Portia!” Jessica grabbed Portia’s hand and pumped it enthusiastically. “Lizzie was always able to attract the gorgeous ones. How long have you been together?”

Portia coughed briefly, uncomfortable. “My husband and I have actually been friends with her for about six months now.”

“Oh! Oh, I’m sorry. I just assumed,” Jessica apologized and then turned back to Meg. “What brought you both to Los Angeles? And _why_ did you never call me after your rescue? I was worried sick.”

“I, well, you can understand if I was uncomfortable with people knowing what happened to me. Listen, Jessica, I’m sorry for coming out of the blue like this, but I sort of need to know about something from Japanese folklore and you were the first that came to mind,” Meg said by way of an explanation.

Jessica gave Meg a little shove. “Is this for a movie? Did you land a role? God! You’re out of the business for what-five years or something-and you already have a role? I’ve been working my ass off this whole time taking anything that came along-including cheesy cell phone commercials. And you _know_ how rare it is that I get to use my normal voice instead of a fake accent.”

Portia stayed quiet as Meg put on her serious face. She didn’t want to interrupt because she knew that this was Meg’s secret.

“Listen, Jessica. I,” Meg took a breath. “There’s a casting call for a horror movie that has an oni. You know, the red face, the horns, and the fangs. You’re the only Japanese person I know personally, so I came to find you so I can prep for the audition.”

As Meg explained what ‘happens’ in the film, Jessica began to look irritated.

“Shit, Lizzie. I’m Japanese, but my family’s been here for _four_ generations. Do you think I know anything about this stuff? Onis are just bedtime stories my grandmother used to tell me whenever I’d misbehave.”

“Do you really have no suggestions?” Meg asked.

Jessica went into her kitchen and brought back two steaming mugs of tea for them. She sat back down, tapping her fingers on the coffee table. “My grandma had a friend who ran a wagashi. They used to exchange homeopathic remedies and talk about the old days. He’s the only one I can think of that might have some semblance of _accurate_ information.”

Portia could barely contain her enthusiasm when she discovered that a wagashi was not, as she had expected, an apothecary. It was a _sweets shop._ Meg and Jessica chatted with the owner behind the counter while she proceeded to stuff her mouth with all the samples that were set out on the display case. When they finished speaking with the owner, they collected Portia from the front of the shop and bustled out of the door and down the street to the closest bar. Apparently, Meg had spilled the truth when talking to the elder, and so Jessica now knew they were tracking a real oni and this wasn’t for a movie after all.

“Damn.” That seemed to be all that Jessica could say since they’d left the shop. She downed a third glass of bourbon. “ _Dammit_.”

“I know,” Meg said as she ordered another round.

“I take it there’s a solution, but it’s not good,” Portia said with a grimace. “Lay it on me.”

“Well, Jessica’s contact says that the utility company was here a couple months ago burying cable and dug up the holly bushes in the boulevard.”

“His name is Takeshi,” Jessica said, interrupting her.

“Yeah, so Takeshi said that it could be because the holly bushes were ripped up. Apparently they were planted decades ago as a tradition to ward off evil spirits. But then he also said that the last earthquake knocked a gargoyle off the roof of the cultural center-”

“They’re monkey statues, actually,” Jessica chimed in. “And some of the roof tiles blew off also.”

“Those were stamped with oni faces,” explained Meg.

“They’re called onigawara.” Jessica undid her pony tail, shook out her hair, and then pulled it back up. Portia figured it was a nervous habit of hers.

“So Takeshi said it could be any of those things that released the oni, but he’s not sure since he’s not an expert. He did say that back home there’s a festival for warding off oni and he gave us the details for what Jessica needs to do.”

“Excuse me; did you just say what Jessica needs to do?” Portia asked.

Jessica slammed her glass on the table and wiped her wrist across her mouth. “Yes, dammit. Takeshi said that neither of you can do it since you’re not Japanese.”

Portia put out a hand to the nervous woman’s shoulder. “This is dangerous. You don’t need to do this.”

“Like hell I don’t. I know about it now. I can’t just sit by and wait for someone else in this neighborhood to do it. What should I do? Go to the coffee shop on the corner and tell the barista ‘Hey, monsters are real and I’m a coward, so you go kill this thing before any more of our neighbors die.’ I can’t do that.” Jessica paused for a breath and splayed her hands on the table, staring at them.

“We can help, Portia. It’s not like we can’t be there for back-up,” Meg said, patting the blade hidden under her jacket. “It’s just that Takeshi said that Jessica should be the one who says the chant.”

“Okay, fine. You’re lead on this one. When do we start and what do you need me to do?”

It took a few hours and a couple of strong espressos before Jessica sobered up and then they spent the rest of the afternoon prepping their supplies they picked up at the grocery store. While they waited for the sun to set, Portia walked through Jessica’s chant with her several times, making sure she had the words memorized and had her timing down. The hardest part was preparing her for Portia’s shifting abilities, but Meg explained it was better to get that out of the way now rather than to surprise her with it when the oni showed up, only to have the trap fall apart.

“What happens to your clothes when you change into a dog?” Jessica asked her, as everyone asked her.

“Magic,” was the short answer that Portia gave her.

“But if you’re a witch’s familiar, and your witch isn’t here, does that still work?”

“Okay, let’s get this straight.” She decided to just come all out with a layman’s explanation. “Being a witch’s familiar is just like a job description. I’m a shifter, so sometimes I’m a black woman and sometimes I shape change into a Doberman but I can still think with my human mind. The fact that I chose to bond with a witch is what makes me a familiar. So I have the physical magic of shape shifting and my husband James has spell magic and sometimes we cooperate, but we can still work our magic independently. Got it?”

Meg walked over from the living room. “That’s…actually the best description I’ve ever heard used before Portia. You should be a teacher.”

“Thanks, _Lizzie_ ,” Portia said sarcastically. “Care to share with the class how you know so much about magic stuff?”

“I’d…rather not.”

The demon turned tail and sat back down in the living room, obviously reluctant to tell all the truth to Jessica. Portia immediately regretted needling Meg like that. Showing Jessica that magic and monsters were real was one thing. Telling her that her friend Lizzie was actually dead and her corpse was possessed by a hell demon called Meg was another thing entirely.

That night, they set up the summoning altar in the alleyway behind the cultural center. Meg had plugged all the attack sites into Google Maps and found that it was centrally located to all the crime scenes. None of them were surprised.

Three and a half hours passed before Portia picked out the odor of the oni on the night breeze. She shifted, dropping to all fours, and trotted upwind. She cut around the corner of a brick building and shot across the street. There. The same trenchcoat and navy pants. Being this close to the oni, Portia could tell that the green glow of its eyes were no different than how a cat’s eyes seem to glow in the dark. _Something to do with the retinas,_ if she remembered her biology class correctly. It helped predators to see in little light, and she knew well that her own eyes did the same thing when she shifted.

She stalked the oni, leaving about a hundred feet between them at first but slowly closing in. The monster slipped into an alleyway near the exit to a club and began to loiter, fidgeting with the belt on its trenchcoat. He waited well past two o’clock, allowing her to sneak ever closer. The booming music from the dance club masked the sound of her approach just as the stench of rail drinks and vomit in the alley obscured Portia’s dog smell from the oni.

Suddenly, the steel door slammed outward, letting music and dancers spill onto the street. A young couple swaying under the influence of too much drink started to stagger towards the subway entrance on Alameda Street, and the hulking red monster stepped out from the alleyway and began to follow them. That was her cue.

Portia rushed forward, barking and growling so loudly that it shook the young couple from their drunken stupor. They panicked and dashed into a convenience store while she continued to chase the oni down the street. Her speed brought her in close to the monster as it ran, and she gnashed her teeth at its hamstrings and nipped the heels of its shoes as it ran. Saliva frothed at her mouth and sprayed down her flank as she snapped her jaws at it. Eventually, she got him turned around and she herded him back south down Alameda Street towards the cultural center. It swung right onto First and then scooted down a pedestrian walkway between shops. The sign said Azusa, and she breathed a mental sigh of relief. _Meg was right. It was running back to home base._

The oni’s gait became unexpectedly erratic as it swerved side to side. They must have finally reached the barriers that Meg and Jessica had spent the day mixing. The shop owner Takeshi had told them that soy beans were used as part of the ritual, so Meg had had the bright idea to puree the beans and pour the mixture on the ground, sort of like salt lines for ghosts but with soybean paste for onis. Portia had chased the oni directly into a funnel of the green stuff, leaving the only choices to be forward towards Meg’s trap or backwards into Portia’s slavering jaws.

As they reached the end of the trap, Portia spotted Jessica standing on the other side of a line of soy paste, thankfully out of reach of the monster. She held a paper sack of more soybeans and a low table sat beside her with extra sacks and a few cups of sake. The woman was pale from fright but she looked determined all the same.

When the oni ran forward, it bounced off the barrier created by the paste on the ground. It stumbled backwards into Portia and she took the opportunity to slash the back of its knee with front claws. When it flinched away, she leapt up and grabbed onto its shoulder with her jaws, missing the kill shot at its throat.

 _"Oni wa soto! Fuku wa uchi!"_ Jessica yelled as she threw a handful of the beans at them both as they struggled. _Oni out, blessings in_ , was what Takeshi had said the words meant. It was part of some ritual back home. Jessica began to chant it repeatedly. _"Oni wa soto! Fuku wa uchi! Oni wa soto! Fuku wa uchi! Oni wa soto! Fuku wa uchi!"_

The red figure of the oni began to slump under the onslaught of Portia’s attacks and Jessica’s spell chant. From the side of the path, Meg jumped out and landed on the back of the monster, quickly wrapping the garrote around its neck and bringing it to its knees. It started to writhe and howl out in panic, falling to the asphalt in pain.

Meg deftly grabbed both ends of the garrote in her left hand and then reached up with her right, seizing one of its horns. From Portia’s vantage point where she was clamped onto the oni’s shoulder, she could see the demon’s eyes flash to a deep, inky black color. In the next moment, a sickening crunch could be heard by all three women as Meg jerked her right hand, snapping off one of the horns. The oni howled one last time and then collapsed. A moment later, she broke off the other.

One moment, Portia’s teeth were fastened on the oni’s shoulder and the next her jaws snapped shut with such force that she panicked at the thought the monster had slipped away. But it hadn’t. It had just…dissolved away in her mouth. The fabric of the trench coat caved in on itself as the monster’s body dissipated into a red mist. She spit out the coat and sniffed the perimeter, searching for traces of the oni that might coalesce elsewhere. Once her senses told her the air was clear of any residue, she transformed back to human form. Portia wished all kills were this clean.

Jessica was on her knees behind the table with the extra bags of soy beans. One hand covered her face while the other was planted on the ground holding her up off the pavement. She peered up at both Portia and Meg as they approached. “Is it over?” Her voice sounded shaky.

Meg brushed the palms of her hands off on her jeans and squatted down in front of her friend. “It’s over. You did great. If it wasn’t for your friend Takeshi and your chanting, this wouldn’t have ended so cleanly. Thank you.”

“But, but it screamed. It screamed in pain, I heard it. And you…you killed it,” Jessica stuttered.

“It was killing people,” Meg said, putting her hands on Jessica’s shoulders. “It was killing people in your neighborhood. And if we hadn’t done something, more innocent people would have been murdered.”

“I know. Honestly, I know,” Jessica said, shaking her head. “But how can you both be so cold about it? I just need some time, I guess.”

The next morning, they were on their way to Jessica’s favorite skate shop, when Meg held out a hand, stopping them dead on the sidewalk. Across the plaza were two men in black suits holding badges and asking questions at the tattoo parlor. Meg held her finger to her lips and ushered them down the other side of the street.

“I should’ve gotten back to Charlie. It looks like the Winchesters came after all.” She ducked into an alcove and whipped out her phone, punching in a few lines before locking her screen and putting it back in her purse. “Aw, hell. I’ll just take care of this in person.”

Portia and Jessica hung back while Meg trotted up to the two men, slinging her arms over their shoulders. “Sorry, boys, but you’re late to the party.”

They pivoted out from under her grip and fell into a fighting stance only to spot Meg. Both men visually relaxed.

“Psst, I’m known as Elizabeth Morgan here,” the demon said in a low voice, but Portia’s ears were sensitive enough to pick up her words.

“Charlie said you didn’t pick up the case, so what gives?” Sam asked.

“My bad. I just forgot to text her back,” Meg said. She turned around and waved to the other side of the street where Jessica and Portia waited. “Since you’re already here…wanna help us get up to no good?”

It turned out that Dean and Sam hadn’t packed going-out clothes, so they decided to make a night of it back at Jessica’s apartment. Meg, always prepared, pulled out an Uno deck from her purse. There was nothing like a high intensity game of cards between friends to keep things interesting. She fanned her cards in front of her, playing close to her chest. She had a yellow Skip, a red zero, and a Draw Four left. She looked to her right as Portia set down a green 4. She also had three cards left.

“Tres,” Portia announced in the worst Spanglish she’d ever heard.

Jessica played next, showing a green 7. Meg took another long draw on her bottle. Normally, Jessica wasn’t a drinker, but the recent events had prompted her to make a liquor store run. She was grateful that Jessica’s fridge was fully stocked when all five drove back to her apartment. Red 7. That was Dean’s play, followed by Sam’s red 2.

“Dos.” Meg smirked as she played her zero card and collapsed her hand. She took another drink. They circled around again as she got up to get a few more bottles from the fridge for everyone. By the time she made it back, it was her turn, and the Winchesters were whining for her to play her hand.

“Uno,” Meg said gleefully as she ‘skipped’ Portia and placed her last card face down on the coffee table, waiting. Portia pitched a fit because she didn’t get to play and Jessica played a yellow Reverse card. “Thank you, sweetie.” Portia leaned over, giving her a high five and playing a yellow 9. “Uno!”

“Out-O.” Meg threw down her draw four and reached for the note pad where they were recording everyone’s scores. “Let’s see…” She tallied up their scores, only to discover she still trailed Jessica by 13 points. _Dammit_.

“Another round? Anyone?” She looked up from her tally only to see Sam had gone and sat at the kitchen table, laptop open looking for a wi-fi signal. Jessica and Portia were curled together on the sofa in deep discussion, and Dean was paging through the albums neatly stacked in storage crates against one wall.

“These are some awesome albums. Where’d you get all this vinyl?” he asked.

“There’s a couple of good record shops in town…do you even realize how many hipster vinyl stores there are in LA?” Jessica explained.

“Awesome. I wish I had half this collection,” Dean said. “But some of these seem pretty obscure. Woody Guthrie? Gerry Goffin? I didn’t know you were so folksy.” He held up each album as if to punctuate his wonder.

“Yeah, well, you should see Lizzie’s collection,” Jessica said. “Lots of Bay area punk from the old days.”

“Hunh,” he said, looking over at Meg.

“What?” Meg narrowed her eyes at Dean.

He shrugged. “I guess I didn’t peg you for a music fan, that’s all.”

“When you live forever, you’ve got to find some way to pass the time.” Meg was about to say more, but his phone started going off in his front pocket. _Highway to Hell_ seemed like an appropriate ringtone for a Winchester.

He pulled his phone, swiping the screen to unlock and answer it. “Yeah?”

She decided to give him privacy and wandered over to the kitchen where Sam was hunched over his laptop. She peered over his shoulder, leaning a hand on the back of his chair. “Is this what you do? Get drunk and surf the web? I guess I should be glad you’re not looking at internet porn.”

“God, _Lizzie_ , do you mind?” Sam said, stressing her alias. He quickly shut the laptop, but not before she caught a glimpse of the website.

“Do you really go to paranormal reality show websites? I thought you were a pro, Moose.” Meg shook her head at him. Here they were, case solved, and all Sam could do was search for more supernatural tidbits online.

Lost in thought, she flinched when she felt the hand on her shoulder. Grabbing the offending arm, she spun and heaved, tossing Dean to the floor. When he hit the carpet, the air whooshed out of his lungs. Over on the sofa, Jessica and Portia fell silent. Sam just shook his head in exasperation, picked up his laptop, and moved to the other room away from Meg and his brother.

“Dean, you know I don’t like to be touched!” she yelled.

He held his phone out to her from where he lay on the floor. “Cas wants to talk. Something about you standing him up? And about you changing your phone number again?” He sounded a little short of breath.

“That, well, something sort of came up in San Jose,” she stuttered. A smile grew on her face as she stroked her chin and then pointed at Dean where he still lay prone. “You know what? I’ll tell you all about it later; it involves an old friend of yours. How do you feel about a double date?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever since season 5 when we meet Kali and the other deities, I've wondered about the monsters and legends from other continents. This chapter was written for AzaleaP, who was interested in Meg and Portia's friendship and in Meg meeting other people from her past. Thanks for inspiring me to reopen this fic and continue Meg's adventures.


	13. Kansas City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meg drags Jo to a meeting with Dean and Cas, but a haunted motel cuts their reunion short.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Case fic
> 
> Sorry for the delay in updates, folks. Real life got in the way, including a pregnancy, so I don't know how much time I'll have to add more chapters. I hope this update will satisfy as a pseudo ending as I might not have a lot of free time with the new baby, so I'm marking this fic as complete for now.

If Meg had to be honest, she hadn’t expected this many customers to be packed in to the Panera on a Thursday afternoon. Men in pastel polo shirts and women in Uggs jostled for tables, and some had overflowed outside to the patio seating despite the cool weather. Thankfully, it was a school day, so there were only a handful of little brats sniveling in the restaurant.

It was perfect.

Meg was on her second cup of coffee when Jo stormed out of the bathroom and slammed her cellphone on the table.

“Explain this.” Jo threw herself into her chair, glaring at her with a ferocity that reminded her of Ellen.

She swiped Jo’s phone and saw the text message. _Dean Winchester will want to hear what you have to say._ She looked back up at Jo and shrugged, not saying anything.

Jo pawed the phone across the table and jammed it into her purse. “What did you do? And whose number is this?”

“I couldn’t very well use my own number, could I? All I did was send Clarence a text saying I had information on the Harvelles. I didn’t know he’d bring Dean with him.” It didn’t mean anything that she couldn’t meet Jo’s eyes. No. It meant nothing at all.

“You’re such a jerk, you know that? You tricked me,” Jo accused. “I thought you needed a friend here when you met with Castiel. This wasn’t even supposed to be about me.”

She broke a corner off of her cookie and nibbled it. “I thought you decided after that fiasco at the Winchester House that you’d go back to hunting? You need to face them sooner or later. And how did you think I could set this up? Call him up with my own phone and say: _Castiel, I’ve been thinking about you and wondered if you wanted to get a cup of coffee and see if we still had chemistry._ Who does that?”

“Seriously? Miss ‘the devil is my ex-boyfriend’? You don’t know how to-,” Jo cut herself off and pointed her chin at the door.

Meg craned her neck to look over her shoulder and spied Dean and Castiel storm through the front door and scan the room. With a sigh, she raised her hand, flicking her fingers to signal them over to their table. She wiped her fingers on her jeans and then reached up to push her hair behind her ears.

Jo caught her eye across the table and got up from her chair, moving around the table and sliding into the booth next to Meg as the men approached. “I’m going to kill you after this,” Jo whispered, patting the piece in her shoulder holster. “Remember, I’m a cop now. I can get away with it.”

Dean was wearing an olive colored field coat, brown plaid shirt, and a black t-shirt. Meg liked to think of it as his hunting uniform. The man just didn’t have any style. Even here in Kansas he stood out.

She flicked her eyes to Cas and then quickly looked away. He was wearing a blue button up shirt open at the collar and had tucked it into some black Dockers that skimmed his hips. Damn. She thought he’d looked cute and disheveled back in Cheboygan, but this was ridiculous.

“Meg, what’s going on? What’s this bullshit about Ellen and Jo?” Dean’s voice shook with anger. “You know, Sam and I were going to give you a chance. You even helped on a couple of cases and then you changed your phone and disappeared. But I’m of half a mind to gank you right here and now for Ellen and Jo’s sake.”

Dean leaned forward and splayed his fingers on the table top, doing his best to appear intimidating. Meg snorted and then stayed quiet as she waited for the inevitable realization. She spared another quick glance at Castiel and relaxed when she saw the direction of his gaze.

“Dean,” Cas said in a low voice, putting a hand on the hunter’s shoulder to calm him. “ _Look_ at her.”

Dean did a double take. Meg wanted to laugh aloud when she saw the expression on his face. She had to admit; it had been a long time since she’d seen astonishment on a hunter’s face. Next to her in the booth, Jo squared her shoulders and pulled the faded ballcap from her head, shaking out her hair dramatically.

“Surprise, bitch. I bet you thought you saw the last of me,” Jo sassed.

Meg choked helplessly as Jo’s awful joke and melodramatic hair flip caught her off guard mid-swallow of her coffee. Castiel just calmly pulled out a chair and sat across from Meg while Dean spluttered helplessly. Eventually, he calmed down and took a seat, but that didn’t stop him from pulling out his flask and splashing holy water on Jo, though.

“Real classy, Dean. Do you have the knife? I’ll prove it right here,” Jo said, as she reached across the table, pushed up her sleeve, and bared her forearm.

After Dean was satisfied with all the requisite tests, including a quiet recitation of christo under his breath, he finally turned to both women, eyes wide in confusion. “What happened? Is this a resurrection? Like when Cas pulled me from the grave?”

“I never died. Or, well, I wasn’t dead for long,” Jo explained. “My mom says that Meg healed my wounds in Carthage after you guys took off.”

“What about the explosion? Why didn’t you guys come meet us?” Dean asked.

Meg bared her teeth in imitation of a smile. “Mama Harvelle saw reason and agreed to my conditions, so I swept the ladies out of there and set the detonation.”

“Conditions?” Dean’s voice sounded angry. “You made a deal?! Whose soul? How much time do you have left?”

“Relax, Winchester,” Jo said, trying to calm him down. “My mom didn’t make any deals, at least not in that sense. We just agreed to go into hiding.”

“I don’t understand,” Castiel said, narrowing his eyes. “Meg, you were allied with Lucifer then. Why would you help them?”

Meg shrugged. “Waste not, want not. I learned a long time ago that sometimes the illusion works just as well as the real thing, but with the added benefit of still having that resource later.”

“Was this before or after we met?” asked Castiel.

“Oh, you mean that time you pushed me into burning holy oil and walked over my flaming body while I screamed and writhed in agony?” She couldn’t resist the dig at the former angel. “It was before.”

Castiel pressed his lips together in dismay. “I still don’t understand. If you were helping hunters, why would you still help with the apocalypse?”

“Are you that dense? What tortured soul wouldn’t want the chance to go to heaven? Do you think it was fun in the pits of Hell?”

This meeting wasn’t going as Meg had planned. She thought the boys would just be happy to find out Jo was alive. She wasn’t expecting to be grilled on her motivations.

Jo reached over and put a hand on her arm. “What matters is that my mom and I are alive. Meg’s helped us a ton and even set guardians over us.”

Both men watched her, Dean with surprise and Cas with new appraisal, as Jo outlined the case in McComb and what happened at the Winchester House out in San Jose. There was no avoiding Dean’s annoyance that both Charlie and Kevin knew Jo was alive and neglected to tell him and Sam.

“Look, Meg asked them to offer me the job, but I wasn’t ready to come out of hiding yet. Can you blame me? They both agreed to keep my secret, but now I’ve changed my mind. That’s my prerogative.”

“You talk to Kevin and Charlie but you had to use Jo’s phone to send me a text?” Cas asked Meg, the hurt plain in his eyes.

“You know how I like to lay low,” she mumbled into her coffee not meeting his eyes. Castiel opened his mouth to say something, but the sound of an argument from the front of the restaurant drew the attention of their table. A quick glance revealed a pair of disgruntled customers making a scene at the register, a tall man in a t-shirt with a Miller Lite logo and a shorter man in a Chiefs sweatshirt. The taller man threw a scone across the counter at the teenager working the front, covering her in crumbs, while he cussed her out in a loud voice.

Jo slid from the booth at Meg’s side and before the men realized it, she was behind the man who’d thrown the food at the employee. Meg couldn’t hear what was said from where she sat at the back of the store, but it was plain from their faces that the man and his friend were being just as disrespectful to Jo who they assumed had just butted in to their confrontation. The Chiefs fan shoved Jo’s shoulder, and before Dean could even jump up from the table, Jo had grabbed the wrist of her assailant and twisted his arm behind his back, slamming his face into the counter. As the taller man charged her, she whipped her badge out from under her jacket. The ‘oh shit’ expression on their faces was priceless as the men realized they’d just assaulted a police officer.

Fifteen minutes later found both men sitting on the curb outside the Panera with a KC squad car pulled up in the handicap space writing them both citations. The Chiefs fan was apparently going to be booked for assault and the tall man in the beer shirt was to be charged with disturbing the peace. Their little table watched the whole scene through the plate glass windows and Meg noticed that Dean basically drooled over watching Jo take charge and order around the local cops.

“Well Dean, what do you think of our little Jo-Jo now?” Meg asked.

“She’s different,” he answered with a grimace.

“It’s been seven years. Time didn’t stop for her,” she mused as Jo walked back in to where they waited.

Simultaneous buzzing from the jackets of Dean and Castiel turned all their attention from the recent scuffle followed by a belated alert beep on Jo’s phone.

“You turned your phone off again?” Dean asked Meg. “Kevin says to check your Skype.”

She just shrugged and opened her messaging app, mumbling under her breath about pesky, meddling kids. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. A haunted hotel?”

Two hours later found them leaving the Capri Motel trailed by a frantic concierge with empty rooms. Apparently one of the rooms kept emitting a foul odor and creepy noises, chasing off prospective customers – even ones several rooms away. Jo was going to run point, as a way of reinitiating her into the hunter life.

“There was a body dumped here back in ’03; someone stashed the body in the box spring,” Jo said after ending her call with the local ME. “But according to the local precinct’s records, the hazmat team disposed of the room’s furniture and the ductwork was all cleaned afterwards. There shouldn’t be any DNA left to spur on a haunting this many years later.”

“Did they catch the perp?” Dean wanted to know.

“No. Meg, you should check out the rooms and see if you can pick up anything with your spidey sense. Dean will come with me to the station and see if we can get a look at their cold case files.” She stopped talking when, not fifteen parking spaces down from where they stood, they watched a drug deal go down. “You know what? Take Cas with you, just in case.”

Meg snorted at that. “Please, you don’t think I can’t handle a couple of meth heads?”

“Listen,” Jo flicked her eyes one more time in the direction of the drug dealer and lowered her voice. “This is a flop house for drug dealers and sex workers. If the locals see you poking through rooms on your own, you’re more likely to raise suspicions. At least with Cas along, it’ll look like you already have a client.”

“Got it.” Meg briefly closed her eyes and the air shimmered around her. When she opened them again, the neckline of her shirt was lower, her makeup was heavier, and she had a slightly strung out look to her eyes. She twirled for their appraisal. “Will this work?”

The Capri was your regular, run-of-the-mill, roadside motel that had seen better days. Three stories tall on one wing and two on the other joined in the middle by an exterior stairwell enclosed by concrete lattice work. The two wings of the motel surrounded a pool area, currently drained, and a dismal jacuzzi. The concierge had given them a universal housekeeping keycard and permission to check any room they wanted. They had only between two and three o’clock to search the entirety of the complex before check-ins would resume. There were no interior hallways, so the only access to the rooms led directly out into the parking lot and upper balconies.

“You know, Clarence, I’d had hopes of taking you back to a hotel at some point, but this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.” She swept her eyes up his body and gave him a suggestive wink as she let them into one of the rooms.

He cleared his throat, loosening his collar. “We need to talk about why you keep avoiding me.”

“Later, Feathers. We have an investigation.” And Meg was suddenly very glad that Kevin had sent them all on this ghost hunt so she could prolong having it out with Castiel. “Nothing is very remarkable about any of these rooms except how out of date they all are. Plain cinderblock walls don’t exactly allow for hiding bodies. No wonder that murderer resorted to stashing the vic under the mattress.”

Castiel made the rounds of the room with an EMF meter, giving the platform under the bed an experimental kick. The thump told them the motel had switched to solid platforms in lieu of hollow ones.

Meg grabbed his wrist to stop him from pulling back the bedspread and shook her head. “Lesson number one: never touch the bedspreads. There’s no need to actually touch anything if I can sense it anyway.”

They made their way through half the floor before she sensed something, well, off. These rooms had seen too much death over the years and she was having a hard time sorting out the afterimages. There were suicides and overdoses and murders and heart attacks. The Capri Motel was really home to the desperate and the down and out.

“Ugh. I promise you, there are no restless spirits here,” she said in exasperation to Castiel. “I would have sensed something by now, and I’m giving it my all. Why was Kevin so insistent we check this place out?”

“In addition to the news story about the corpse in the bed, he sent me a spreadsheet with the names of people who have gone missing after checking in here.” He pulled out his LG and opened a doc file, passing the phone to Meg. “Plus, there are the client complaints about smells and weird noises at night.”

“Weird noises?” she snorted. “We’ve heart at least three gunshots in the neighborhood just in the last half hour and it’s the middle of the day. I shudder to think what you would hear at nighttime. And I could tell you what the smells are if you give me five minutes with a black light in here. This is a cheap motel in a bad neighborhood, Clarence. The only thing that surprises me about the Capri is that it doesn’t rent rooms by the hour.”

As they cleared the last room on that floor and headed into the enclosed stairwell, a shadow passed in the corner of her eye and she heard a thump. She turned in time to see Castiel slump to the ground and a white man in coveralls step from the shadows. He held a gun and there was another tucked into his waistband.

 _Well, shit_. She’d been concentrating so hard on finding spirits that she’d completely neglected her surroundings. A brief glance at her angel told her his breathing was normal and was only unconscious. Well, if this was the disturbance that had pinged on Kevin Tran’s radar, she’d do her damndest to get to the bottom of it.

Doing her best damsel-in-distress impression, Meg followed the man on shaking legs to what looked like an old maintenance room accessed via a low door at the bottom of the stairwell. There was a sagging cot on one wall with a grey blanket and blue and white striped sheets. Crumpled chip bags and crusty cans of pork and beans overflowed a trashcan next to it. A dented green row of lockers stood on the far wall. One of the doors sagged on its hinges, displaying a work uniform with the name Steve embroidered on the patch. Opposite the bed was a workbench of sorts covered in the sorts of tools you might expect in a property managers office. What was unusual, however, was the pegboard above it. It was plastered with news clippings and polaroids. She’d seen too many thrillers to have any doubts that this was his collection of kills.

He took the time to bind her wrists with zip ties but didn’t bother to gag her. Briefly, Meg’s mind flashed back to that year she’d spent imprisoned by Crowley and his cronies. She couldn’t help her heart from racing before she took control of herself and reflected that this time was different. This time she was in control. This time…She breathed and plotted and planned her deception.

“Please!” she whispered. “I’ll do anything you want.”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” the man shot back at her. “You would do anything. You and the others. You’re nothing but a stain on humanity.”

“Steve!” she stumbled over the name, guessing it was the same as the one on the uniform. “That’s your name, right? What do you want?”

With eyes wide and unfocused, the man went on to ramble about moral decay, drugs, and prostitution. Meg knew then. This wasn’t some pervert who got off on killing. This was some self-righteous crusader thinking he was cleaning up the mean streets of Kansas City. She wondered how many addicts and sex workers he’d made disappear over the years.

Meg wouldn’t get anywhere playing the frightened prisoner card. It was easy to snap the plastic from around her wrists and she lunged at him. He got off two shots from his gun, but all it did was wing her in the shoulder. It didn’t stop her from wrenching him around and pinning him against the workbench. The disguise fled from her appearance as she diverted her powers to something more aggressive. The maintenance room filled with the odor of hot copper as she sunk her fingertips through the killer’s temples.

The man opened his mouth in a silent scream and stopped struggling as she wriggled her fingertips around inside his mind. “Let’s see here, Steve-o. I want to know where you stashed those bodies.” One of his legs spasmed as she crooked a pinky finger around one particular nasty memory. “Was this your first one? She wasn’t even a teenager!”

As Meg wound deeper and deeper into Steve’s past, she wanted to vomit. He hadn’t been killing ‘bad guys’ as he’d fantasized. He’d been killing victims: people under the thumb of dealers or women trapped in sex trafficking. This douche imagined he was some vigilante or real life version of Dexter.

“Jeez, Steve! I know your twisted sense of morality won’t understand, but you’ve been murdering the wrong people this whole time. If you’d really been cleaning up society the way you’d dreamed, you should have been targeting the dealers and the johns and the pimps-you know…the real bad guys. Maybe if you had gone after the actual villains, I’d let you get away with it. After all, I’m a sucker for some good ol’ vengeance myself. But you really went too far. Those souls you killed don’t even go to hell for torture and torment, so there’s no benefit to what you’ve done.”

Meg was too wrapped up with what she was discovering in the killer’s brain that she only vaguely heard the pounding on the steel door that led back out to the stairwell. She barely wrenched herself away in time before the door burst open revealing a disheveled Castiel followed by two uniformed officers. With a little quick thinking on her part, she raised a new glamour. This one had a more ‘innocent’ look that included a torn shirt, red eyes from crying, and streaks of mascara. She didn’t need to exaggerate the bullet wound in her shoulder though.

The two cops rushed to subdue the maintenance man, which was an easy task considering Meg had just assaulted his mind, while Cas ran to her side and pulled her to her feet. He cupped her face in his palms and stared intently into her eyes.

“Meg, are you alright?”

She gave him a slow wink before collapsing into his arms, faking a sob.

The ride to the hospital was nicer than she’d expected. Meg hadn’t been in an ambulance since she had escaped Crowley a couple of years ago, but she had been unconscious at that time. Castiel rode beside her on the way to the hospital, holding her hand tight in his grip. For the sake of their disguise, he had told her under his breath.

Processing in the ER went smoothly, and in no time Meg finished her statement to the KC police. Killer Steve was being charged with assault, battery, unlawful use of a weapon, attempted murder, and kidnapping just for her alone. It was enough to keep him locked in jail until they had enough evidence to charge him for the murders. Meg happily supplied the information she had gleaned while picking his brain, but to the investigators, she said Steve had told her everything before the police had ‘rescued’ her. It didn’t matter though. He had saved enough trophies of his kills down in that maintenance room to implicate himself anyway. The sad truth was that he had not even been a discreet serial killer. It was just that people didn’t care enough about those he’d murdered.

With the case handed over to the local police and the midwest branch of the FBI, Jo and Dean left the local precinct and headed for drinks and to catch up, leaving Meg and Cas to themselves as they left the hospital. After they walked through the sliding doors that led from the entrance of the ER, Castiel released Meg’s hand. She slipped her arm through his instead, not meeting his gaze.

“We don’t need to pretend anymore, you know,” he said.

“Who’s pretending?” She gripped his arm a little tighter. “Just walk with me a bit, would you Clarence?”

And so they did. The afternoon had been so busy with the investigation at the motel, it was hard for Meg to believe that it was early evening and still light out. A little time passed before Castiel pried her hand from his sleeve, but he just slung his arm over her shoulder instead and held her closer to him as they walked. Her breath hitched a little in her throat, but otherwise it was a very companionable silence. It reminded her an awful lot of the weeks she’d had with him at the asylum before the Winchesters came for him.

“I didn’t like seeing you taken,” he said finally after they’d walked a couple of blocks.

“And I didn’t like seeing you downed by a pistol whip. You’re the fragile one, Hot Wings, not me. I had a handle on the situation.” She reached up and ran her fingers through his hair, feeling for the lump where the butt of the gun had struck him. Meg channeled a bit of her energy and she felt the swelling subside. “You should have had the nurse look at that.”

He jerked away from her touch and grabbed at her hand.

“What? Afraid I’ll get demon taint all over you?” she asked.

“No!” he replied hurriedly. “No, just startled. I guess I’m just used to it being the other way around. The healing bit, I mean.” He didn’t let go of her hand. “Is Jo really going to start hunting again? Ellen won’t like that,” he said a moment later.

“Oh, she will. She can’t help it. But Jo-Jo won’t leave McComb. She likes being a cop way too much and hunting is just another way to help people. She’ll probably just stick to cases in Mississippi, though. Her partner is open minded about creepy stuff, too, so I wouldn’t be surprised if she recruits him.”

“And you? What are your plans?”

“I’m-I’m not exactly a hunter,” Meg said with a laugh. “Maybe you could say that I just clean up messes that happen around me. Why? Do you want me to move in to the secret hunter clubhouse? Is there a password? Maybe a secret handshake?”

“I’d like to see you more, is all,” Castiel said, turning to face her on the sidewalk.

“Why _are_ you sweet on me, Clarence?” she ventured. It had been a long time since she had asked him that, but she still waited for an answer.

“Do I need a reason? I’ve seen what’s behind those eyes and I still want to be near you. Why do you call me Clarence?”

“Hmmmm.” Meg tapped a finger against her lips. “Because I thought I was a real smart ass back then and I unfortunately developed a penchant for angel puns. I think it’s pretty arrogant, by the way, that you always use it as your alias.”

“Because you named me,” Castiel said simply. “I watched it finally, by the way. Charlie made sure to stream a copy on her laptop for me.”

“Well, don’t get any ideas.”

“Names have power, you know.” He tightened his grip on her hand. “I’d like to know yours.”

Meg just grinned and abruptly turned them towards a restaurant, reaching for the door.

Cas pulled up short. “Where is this?”

She pointed at the name on the door which clearly read ‘PizzaBella’. “I asked one of the EMT’s where we could find some good thin crust, though I doubt they use provel cheese like in St. Louis. I hope you’re in the mood for pizza.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This case did reference a true story from 2003, though the Capri Motel did permanently close earlier this year. http://www.snopes.com/horrors/gruesome/bodybed.asp

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thank you so much for those who have been following along for all the versions of this fic. This originally began as a few one-shots that I later expanded into one tale. This work was my first attempt at fanfic, and you can see that in the chapter titled "Lincoln", which was the first thing I wrote (handwritten in a notebook in 2010!!). I didn't even discover AO3 until 2013, and the rest I wrote after that. Sometimes I cringe when I reread some of the early chapters I wrote, as I can really tell how my writing has evolved. I really appreciate all the comments and encouragement I've received from readers over the last two years. Some of you wrote asking for more when I thought I wouldn't return to writing. You should know how much your comments helped to inspire me to continue. Again, thank you for reading and commenting.


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